Lifestyle
by Draechaeli
Summary: Lifestyle: The way in which one lives their life. House has decided to change how he is living... and he is making Chase help him. Starts directly before "The Softer Side" Methadone detox, BDSM-themes House/Chase, Taub Kutner, Forteen, possible H/W/C
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own House MD it was created by David Shore and owned by FOX and NBC/Universal, and produced by Heel and Toe Films and Bad Hat Harry Productions. I also don't own and film, book, television show, monster truck, bread, or anything else that references a real world contraption (since usually I avoid it for this purpose). Most things mentioned under this clause I suggest that you as the reader check out. And special thanks to the lj group Clinc Duty, for putting in their hours and providing me with the word for word (not to mention proper spelling) of the House episodes I modify. So Welcome to the Wonderful World of Fanfiction.

Warning: This is Slash (/): which means relations of the male-kind. With some Friendship (+): they are friends they hang out and are supportive. More specifically House/Chase and Taub+Kutner

Author's Note: Ta Da! Here is my NaNoWriMo House/Chase fic (well the prologue) I apologise to dracotelitha and all the others who were anticipating this post. I like to build my romantic relationships slowly... so I hope you enjoy. All clarifying author notes are at the end of the chapter.

Happy Reading!

Lifestyle

Prologue

The locker room was dark, as he stood there by his locker half dressed in his street clothes. He had planned a quiet evening by himself; well there was his cat, but Allison was not coming over, nor was he going to her place. In a single moment, a single tone his whole perspective on the evening turned up-side down. With one arm in his shirt sleeve and the other half-way there, Chase's pager went off. Green eyes quickly glanced at the device as the blond's brain began to think.

He wanted to go home, he wanted to relax all by himself, turn the television on and become mindless before falling asleep. With a long sigh the blond reached out with his naked arm and picked up his text pager, it was from House, "Consult, just stop by when you have a free moment," Chase read out loud after he read it a few times in his head. The Australian read the message once more put the pager down and finished putting his shirt on.

The page was so unlike House he couldn't describe it. When it came to consults House wanted the answer immediately. Sighing again Robert Chase tried to figure out what sort of prank House was playing now, or what dangerous surgery the other doctor wanted him to perform.

Chase began to slowly button his shirt, House had not put a time frame on the consult, or he could even come in the next morning—afternoon and help House then. Another part of his brain protested though, he was already at the hospital with free time, who knew what kind of emergencies would occur the next afternoon, and Diagnostics was not exactly out of the way.

Looking through his locker one last time, Robert threw a stray puzzle book in his messenger bag, put on his jacket, retrieved his pager and walked out of the locker room. Chase had always found that the later shift in the upper floors of the hospital to be calming. He himself clacked out later than the rest of his colleagues on his shift, he had stayed longer to make sure a patient in the ICU was stabilised for the next shift. But now walking through the halls he could see the nurses begin to lower their voices and the lights for the night, so patients may rest.

The Australian's footfalls slowed and softened as he approached the glass walls of Diagnostics. The conference room was dark and as he approached Chase could see that the small desk lamp in House's office was the only illumination. As the blond got closer he could see that House sat behind his desk, doing nothing except staring at his large tennis ball.

Slowing to a stop in front of the door to Gregory House's office, the Intensivist paused for half a second thinking that House would notice him, before raising his right hand and knocking on the glass. House looked up at Chase and motioned him in.

"Sit down," said House once the door was closed. Chase took off his messenger bag and dropped it on the floor next to the chair in front of House's desk, he debated taking off his jacket and decided to wait until he knew how long he was going to be staying first, and then he sat down in the chair and looked at House.

As the green eyes were studying, their former boss, House seemed to have an internal struggle. Suddenly House stood up and began drawing the curtains and locking the door. At first Chase was trying to figure out the significance of this move but then he noticed that House's limp was less pronounced, and then it dawned on him that House wasn't even using his cane.

Chase made a startled noise somewhere between a gasp and a cough, "You're not in pain?"

A glimmer of a smile spread itself on House's face before he moved to sit down, "This is what I need the consult on."

"Your pain? But why the show with the curtains and the door?" asked Chase leaning forward as he removed his jacket.

"I'm taking methadone," House said watching the Australian's face for a reaction. The blond opened his mouth about to say something, but House continued talking, "It's not to detox... well at first it wasn't. It eradicates my pain Chase."

There was a pause and then Chase smiled, "Well, that's great House really."

"Do you know the risks of taking methadone?" asked House he picked up a small blue leaflet and read in a half-mocking tone, "May cause: headache, stomach pain, dry mouth, flushing, itching, skin rash, low blood pressure, nausea, vomiting, swelling of the extremities, hypoventilation, constipation, increased sweating, heat intolerance, chronic fatigue, sleepiness, exhaustion, insomnia, euphoria, mood changes, anorexia, weight gain, difficulty urinating, blurred vision, hallucinations, cardiac arrhythmia, gynecomastia, impotence, and seizures."

Chase briefly reflected on the irony of causing both sleepiness and insomnia. But they were only possibilities, "Have you been having any problems?"

"Well I'm not euphoric, or hallucinating if that is what you are asking," replied the elder doctor with a smirk.

"And, what about the not-so-fun side effects?" Chase deadpanned.

House glanced down at the list again, "dry mouth, constipation, nausea, it burns when I urinate, I think it is moving towards becoming difficult, exhaustion as well. I want you to check my vitals."

Chase nodded he reached down into his bag and pulled out a notebook and a pen, flipping to the end where he could write without scattering his 'House notes' he began to jot down the side effect that House was having. By the time he was done House was sitting there with a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope on his desk. The blond picked up the stethoscope checking both the elder's pulse, blood pressure and listened to his heart and lungs.

"Your blood pressure is a little bit low, and your lungs sound a bit laboured but nothing terrible," replied Chase as he wrote down all his findings in the notebook. And then looked up at House, he was very surprised that House was giving him so much—"Why did you choose me? Why not Wilson?"

"Wilson is still uptight about how I broke my fingers when I was detoxing once," replied House.

"How about Cuddy then, she wouldn't fire you," replied Chase, tapping his pen on the notebook.

"I am pretty sure that Cameron told her that I cut myself while I was detoxing."

"Why are you telling me this?" Chase's voice rose a bit as he glared at his ex-boss, green eyes widened, "What aren't you telling me?"

House scuffed, the Australian never was very intimidating, "I don't need an enabler."

"Since when?" the blond said in a hysteric sort of bark, "You covet Wilson, you hate it when he gets new friends."

"Since I almost died," House bit back.

Chase paused, put the end of the pen in his mouth, and rethought what he was going to say, "You've done that before and Wilson stood by you."

"I made a decision, the methadone allowed for an easy detox from the vicodin and since I won't have to deal with that pain I figured I would give a new pain management regiment a chance," answered House with a glare.

Green eyes widened a fraction, the blond let out a long breath and leaned back in the chair, he studied House for a moment, "So what exactly do you want me to do?"

House looked at Chase, studied his posture and facial expression, gauging the chances that Chase would leave. It wasn't a common occurrence but Chase has been known to disagree so much that he would just leave the room, "I want you to take over my pain management. I don't care what you decide to do, take me off vicodin, put me on proper doses whatever. You will have to lie to me though, I can willingly and knowingly come to you for the script, but the rest will be work... for you."

Chase was shocked, he had never known House to be like this, part of it scared him, the other part was happy. He had always been okay with House and vicodin; House had pain, the vicodin managed it, House came to work more or less sober, and saved lives. That was more than a few steps up from his mother. So comparatively House was better, "All right. But you have to tell me everything, starting with the almost dying."

House sighed watching the blond he leaned back in his chair for a moment before leaning forward and picking up his tennis ball, rolling it between his hands he looked up into green eyes, "Deal," House threw the ball in the air leaning back to catch it, Chase took the pen from his mouth, uncapped the pen and poised it on the notebook, looking up at House, "I've been taking methadone for a week, I got the prescription from St. Sebastian's. I went out Saturday night to a bar, I had a table in a far dark corner enjoying the show, I wasn't drinking...and all the good tables were taken so I was waiting for a better spot to open up. And I... I don't know fell asleep, passed out. I came to when my coke and another patron landed on me. This guy was getting to friendly with the strippers and resisted being thrown out and landed on me. It was a horrible jolt, after everything was settled I realised that my breathing was laboured and heavy. I think that I had stopped breathing."

Chase nodded, wrote down a couple of things and looked up to meet House's eyes, "You shouldn't sleep unmonitored and you need to stop taking the Methadone soon or risk another addiction or death."

Gregory House looked at the blond and sneered, "You don't think I know that? That's why I hired an up-and-coming RN to watch me sleep each night on Sunday and paged you today."

The blond just nodded his head, "Are you taking the prescribed dose of methadone?"

"Yes," answered the more irate doctor¸ Chase gave him a look that clearly said elaborate, "80 to 120 mg a day."

"So you are taking the detox dosage, not the recommended dose for pain management, but you sought out the methadone for pain?"

It was mostly a rhetorical question, they both new how House's brain worked. The elder growled, "Yes."

"Before you switched medications how many vicodin were you taking?" House sighed and relaxed a little, the wombat was at least trying to be professional.

Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, House pulled out an old cigar box and slid it along the desk towards the younger doctor. Chase lifted the lid on the box and saw that it was filled with what must have been a hundred small orange bottles, each filled with varying amounts of the small oval white pill. Chase's mouth fell open slightly staring at the contents of the box, "on average I was taking ten Vicodin hp a day. I was prescribed the usual amount, 30 pills a bottle."

The Australian picked up one of the bottles and read the directions: take one pill as needed; do not exceed five a day, "Is this your whole stash?"

"Yes," blue eyes met green, trying to discern the truth, "I suppose you could say I was a bit euphoric when I woke without pain and collected all the bottles around the house. I didn't throw them away like I did with the ketamine, but I put all the bottles in this box."

The Intensivist nodded and shifted around the bottles looking at them for a moment, "I might not write you a script, just shift the pills around while I can."

House chuckled, "I'm not sure that is exactly legal."

"When has that ever stopped you?" Chase said raising one eyebrow, "besides you're doing it yourself, I'm 'not your doctor', am I right?" the blond continued to shift through the bottles, "You were never prescribed vicodin extra strength?"

"Nope," replied House with a grin, he then added, "Wilson thought if I switched directly up from 5 mg pills to 10 mg then I would be popping fewer pills and causing less discord with patients... that I see."

Chase looked amused; he leaned back in the chair and stretched. It sounded just like Wilson and Cuddy to not curb House's vicodin use but to make it appear so. That was the way that the different types of vicodin worked. Vicodin was 500 mg paracetamol also know as acetaminophen and 5 mg hydrocodone, the next type of vicodin called vicodin extra strength (ES) was a fifty percent increase in both paracetamol and hydrocodone, the last type took a different approach compared to the relative dosage amount vicodin high power (HP) contained 660 mg paracetamol and 10 mg hydrocodone. Chase could understand that Wilson and Cuddy would think that doubling the hydrocodone and not the paracetamol, would curb House's physical pill intake, he looked at his ex-boss curiously, "I'm figuring it didn't work."

"Who knew the paracetamol actually helped at all, the increase just wasn't enough after awhile."

"Awhile?"

"Wilson leaving right after the switch probably had something to do with it," House gave a non-committal shrug.

Chase wrote down a few more things and then asked House, "So if I quickly switch you from vicodin hp back to vicodin would you rebel?"

"Rebel?" the elder chuckled, picked up his tennis ball again and threw it in the air, "no, but I will take pills when there is pain."

"If I gave you a bottle of vicodin and vicodin hp and told you to take one of each every time you go for two pills to help you wean off the vicodin would you do it?"Asked Robert Chase his blond hair fell slightly into his face, as he looked up through his eyelashes at his ex-boss while writing down more 'House notes'.

House smiled, "Probably, unless the pain was horrible. Your hair isn't as shiny as it was, missing all that British sun bleach it?"

"Australian sun, most likely," Chase answered without batting an eye.

"You still look, oh so adorable," mocked House, "it is the longer hair and the attempt at growing a beard."

The blond shook his head as he capped his pen and placing it in his mouth, while he packed his remaining things. Looking up at House he said, "I think that is all I need to know right now, have your RN write down your stats when she takes them, and in a couple days we'll switch you back to vicodin."

Robert stood up and put his jacket on, quickly glancing at his watch it wasn't that late. Slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder he looked over House and the office before closing the cigar box and putting it in his bag with the pen. Looking at his old boss once more, Chase didn't expect a thank you or anything like that, with an acknowledging nod, the blond left the glass office.

Walking out of the hospital, Chase made his way down to the front desk checking out with the nurse there before heading out to his car. The day had been tiring, his original plan had been to go home and relax, probably turn in early. Now, now he was energised his brain was buzzing with House.

It was still a shock to have House ask him to do this and he had even been for the majority of the time pretty civil. Robert Chase kept thinking that there had to be some sort of hidden agenda or trick, this was House he was thinking about.

The blond replayed the whole conversation in his head, took extra time to think on the situation in which House had found himself in. Without really paying any attention to his surroundings Chase made his way to his car and drove home. When Chase had finally decided the most likely and surprisingly the non-conspiracy theory behind House's motivations; Chase was surprised to find that he was sitting on his sofa.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts and be happy that he made it home alive. Chase re-examined his conclusion. House was in control of this situation—to an extent. In the past when House had detoxed it had been for or because of Cuddy and/or Wilson. There was the bet, or as House considers it the time he broke his fingers, and then there was Tritter or when Cameron caught House cutting. House had little choice is these manners and a lot of pressure. When you combine these times with the fact that the infarction was to an extent Stacy's fault, at the very least not House's medical decision on the paper work. Then there was the ketamine it was House's choice but it did not last. Chase was also pretty sure that Cuddy and probably Wilson too have given him a hard time during that time period. His last piece of supporting evidence is House said, 'I don't need an enabler,'—plain, simple and to the point. No one _needs _an enabler; a lot of people however _want_ an enabler. Wilson was just too soft when it came to House in Chase's opinion. There would be a large chance that this whole deal would border on illegal. This was probably the reason why House had been nice-ish about commanding Chase to do this for him.

Deciding that the help was generally wanted, the green-eyed man pulled out the cigar box. First he took out the pills and organised them into vicodin verse high power vicodin, then he checked the dates on all the bottles and threw out the pills that were expired, which was of course only one bottle with two pills in it. Chase began consolidating the bottles so he had an easier time in seeing the quantity of the narcotic. There was five complete bottles of vicodin and a sixth bottle with nineteen pills in it, while there three bottles of vicodin hp and a forth with four pills in it. Taking out his notebook he jotted down how many pills House had given him. Placing the empty bottles back in the box and the full bottles on top of the empty ones, the blond leaned back into the cushions to think.

There was about two weeks of constant methadone use, before one got addicted, give or take a few days. House would then have to be moved back to the vicodin hp ten pills a day regime. Besides the fact that that was a dangerous dose of vicodin, it was also addictive. Three days maximum on the methadone, five days maximum on the ten vicodin hp, another five days for the combination of the regular and high powered. Chase was half afraid that he was staying on too high of a level of narcotics and risking addiction again.

Yawning and stretching the blond threw the pad and paper onto the coffee table before standing up and walking into his kitchen. Opening the refrigerator the Australian looked at its contents before taking out a can of coke. Standing up straight he held out his spoils, popped the tab, and took a long drink. Chase's attention was drawn to the small creature who was weaving in and out of his leg, meowing pitifully.

Chase smiled and bent down to scratch behind the ear of his grey tabby cat, "Hey, Terrence, do I need to fill your bowl?" Terrence meowed and walked away from Chase in favour of sitting by the empty food bowl that sat out of the way half under the island. Robert smiled and shook his head as he opened the cupboard under the sink, pulled out the bag of dry cat food, reaching in he grabbed the scoop and spooned out a cup of cat food for Terrence. Giving his companion one last ear scratch, Chase returned to the living room coke in hand.

Putting the coke on the coffee table the blond Intensivist sat back down on the sofa and picked up his House Notes and his pen. "The methadone removes his vicodin addiction... so he has a clean slate? Possibly," said Chase out loud. He stood up from the sofa and went over to his bookshelf, pulling down the large tome; a medical guide to prescriptions. The book had little every day practical use based on the set up, but it had been a gift from his undergraduate freshmen roommates, none of which were planning on becoming doctors.

Robert flipped through and found methadone. The dose that House was taking was for detoxing. This made sense to the blond, because every doctor in the immediate tri-state area knew House and his affinity to vicodin. Methadone was a legal, marginally safer version of Heroine without the high. It was suggested to help heroin addicts, but it helped with other opioids such as hydrocodone. It stopped the body's craving for the addictive substance—since in effect it was the drug—and created a cross-tolerance, which meant that there was a chance to break the original addiction. Of course the book went on to describe annoyingly—in Chase's opinion—that everyone was different and some heroin addicts could never be taken off the methadone. So the answer to the question he posed to himself was: possibly.

Putting the large book back on his shelf, Chase sat back down on the sofa. He stared off into space chewing his pen and trying to gauge how addicted House was to vicodin. It was a silly notion, since it was all relative; one could be addicted after one hit or a hundred, depending on your parents you could be addicted at birth. House was in pain though; Chase felt like the addiction was partially due to how emotional stress seemed to worsen the pain. That in itself had some medical backing but increasing the vicodin during those times could lead to addiction. Picking up his notebook once more, Chase sighed there was really no use speculating, no one could ever pinpoint the exact 'why?'.

Looking down at his time line he nodded and wrote alternative above it. He then wrote down: Three days maximum on the methadone, five to ten days maximum on vicodin. If the addiction reset itself then regular vicodin should be fine if it wasn't he would switch to his alternative plan. Next in the time line would have to be disguising placebos to look like vicodin. But House was in real pain so maybe, it would be better to switch vicodin which was 500 mg paracetamol and 5 mg hydrocodone, with 500 to 600 mg of acetaminophen the pills would be the same shape, colour, and size. All he would have to worry about would be getting acetaminophen to be stamped as vicodin, that was lying, illegal, and had to be done. Next he would have to slowly replace the vicodin with the fakes, probably in ten percent increments. He needed a calendar.

Putting down the notebook and pen, the Australian took a sip of his coke and stood up. Walking over to his junk drawer of his desk he pulled it open and riffled through the drawer until he found the calendar that had been slid under his door back at the beginning of the year, the calendar was small and showed scenic pictures from around New Jersey, accompanied by short bible passages it also proudly announced the name of some church group he had never heard of. But none of that really mattered at the moment, he had a calendar.

Looking around the top of his desk he picked up the red and blue sharpies, before he took the calendar and sharpies to the sofa. Robert Chase flipped through the calendar until he got to the right month, uncapping the blue marker he circled the date. Counting over three days he outlined the box in red. Six days after that he outlined the box in a doted red line another six days way a solid red outline. Deciding to only give each ten percent increment five days as well he continued to outline the correct dates in red. Starting at the beginning he wrote in Stop M, Stop V, 27/3, 24/6, 21/9, 18/12, 15/15, 12/18, 9/21, 6/24, 3/27, and finally acetaminophen. So that every seventh day he would change the ratio in the bottle of vicodin. The fractions being the amount of vicodin verse acetaminophen in a bottle. At the top of each relevant calendar page he also wrote V/A to help him remember which number was for which drug. Capping the red pen he looked at the blue sharpie, that colour he decided would be for any changes in the dates or meds that needed to be on the calendar.

Leaning back into the cushions of the sofa Chase stretched, leaning forward he grabbed his soda and sipped it slowly while he thought, getting the acetaminophen in the right shape and size wouldn't be hard, as long as he said it was a prank on House and he wanted to see how long it would take for him to figure it out and who did it. Imprinting 'vicodin' on the new pills was going to be hard. Tablet imprinting machines were large and only sold to those who were certified. Metal etching or engraving would be similar he thought, he would have to look into it.

Terrence jumped up onto the sofa sauntered over and demanded attention from the blond. Chase smiled and automatically his left hand reached out to scratch the head of his persistent cat. The more Chase thought about this whole situation the more he didn't want to be involved. No matter what plan he came up with that helps House with his pain; a plan that would make the other doctor compliant, and stick to it, there was some illegal activity.

Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was about ten o'clock, Melbourne was plus ten Greenwich Mean Time and New Jersey was minus five. So that meant that it was about one in the afternoon back home. Getting off the sofa after dislodging Terrence from his lap, Chase walked into the kitchen taking out his cell phone and flipping through his contacts. Picking up the phone Chase dialled the long number and waited as the phone rang.

"Hello Marc, its Robert Chase do you have a free moment?" the blond said into the phone. Marc had been one of his roommates freshman year of undergraduate, he ended up becoming a lawyer. They kept in tandem contact, mostly in Christmas card and a promise if the other ever needed a doctor/lawyer the other would attempt to help.

After some small talk and catching up Robert told his friend the reason for his call, "Marc I need some legal advice, I have a patient who has an addiction to their prescription medication. Rehab is not working and they have made me their primary doctor for their pain management. They requested that they do not want to be informed about what medication I put them on, in fact they want me to lie to them about what I give them. What could I do to make sure that my back is covered if there is any legal altercation surrounding this patient?"

Marc was quiet for a moment, "That is a bit complicated," he replied at first, "the best thing would be to have some legal papers specific to this case drawn up, notarised and signed by you and the patient."

Chase nodded to himself and then said, "Is there any way you could do this for me?"

"Geez Robert, I wouldn't mind, and as you know I am free at the moment, but this would be complicated, I could do it from here, but I cannot do this for free, the overnight mail, the notary, not to mention my lunch break," said Marc.

The Intensivist sighed, "I understand, could we do payment plans or something?"

Marc chuckled, "We could work something out," there was a long pause, when Marc began to talk again his voice had taken on a professional tone, "Now I need all the details, starting with names of the involved parties."

"Well I'm the attending doctor, Dr. Robert Chase and my patient is Dr. Gregory House," answered Chase waiting for the next question. It took them a couple hours to hash out a good consent form. It was decided that Marc would overnight mail the document to Chase, who would get House to sign and then mail it back for Marc to look over sign and notarise and for some extra security Marc would seal the forms in an envelope and mail it back to the doctors in America to only be opened in the case of any legal altercations. Feeling much better about the whole situation Chase said goodbye and got ready for bed.

Walking back into the living room the Australian picked up his can of soda to finish it off before going to bed, when he noticed the cigar box, House notes, and calendar. Sighing he glanced around his apartment looking for someplace that he could keep the 'House stuff' without Allison finding it. Then he remembered that in the back of his closet he kept a large waterproof, fireproof lock box; currently it had his passport, immigration papers, birth certificate, and other important things like that. He always locked it with a key that he kept on his key ring, so it was safe enough for his purposes. Putting the notebook back in his bag, he figured that it would be safe enough because his 'House notes' were written in the back of the notebook, grabbing the calendar, and cigar box Chase trudged into his bedroom for the night.

Author's Note: Methadone is prescribed in 5 or 10 mg pills for the control of chronic pain. In the Softer Side Cuddy gave House a cup of green liquid. Liquid methadone is used by patient in Methadone maintenance treatment (MMT) for addicts. The average dose is 80-120 mg a day so I am saying that House has a morning and evening dose of 40 mg (with the possibility of a third needed dose of 40 mg).


	2. 1: The Softer Side

Disclaimer: I don't own House MD it was created by David Shore and owned by FOX and NBC/Universal, and produced by Heel and Toe Films and Bad Hat Harry Productions. I also don't own and film, book, television show, monster truck, bread, or anything else that references a real world contraption (since usually I avoid it for this purpose). Most things mentioned under this clause I suggest that you as the reader check out. And special thanks to the lj group Clinc Duty, for putting in their hours and providing me with the word for word (not to mention proper spelling) of the House episodes I modify. So Welcome to the Wonderful World of Fanfiction.

Warning: This is Slash (/): which means relations of the male-kind. With some Friendship (+): they are friends they hang out and are supportive. More specifically House/Chase and Taub+Kutner

Author's Note: Explanatory AN is at the end.

Just so you know this is a 37 page chapter about, I had a couple people tell me that I wasn't allowed to have a chapter this long. Just as I cannot have a ten page prologue, well screw it! As long as the chapter contents are longer then the chapter heading I'm all for it. Don't get too use to this length though this is the longest chapter (so far, and I've written twelve separate post-able chapters as of yet).

Happy Reading!

Lifestyle

Chapter 1: The Softer Side

Gregory House woke up like every morning, he wasn't really groggy or sleepy eyed he just turned off his alarm and waited a moment for the pain to make itself known in small little aches that promised a world of pain if he didn't do something about it. There was a rustling off to the side of the bed and a quiet, "Good Morning."

The doctor let out a silent breath and sat up, there really was no pain—a twinge of discomfort, but that was all. His up-and-coming nurse handed him a little plastic cup of green liquid, nodding at the girl he took the cup and tipped the liquid back. Handing the cup back the girl as she moved closer to House and took his stats writing them all down before she left his room so that he could get dressed.

House stretched and got out of his bed, today was a good day—a great day. After having talked to Chase and then spending another hour or so debating if he had made the right decision talking to his ex-duckling. Finally giving up he had gone home met with his soon-to-be registered nurse and gone to bed. Now that it was morning, everything just felt better.

House made sure to get quickly ready for work, he dressed quickly and was on his way down the hall to his living room when he remembered his cane. Turning around House almost skipped to get his cover; even thoughts of the Johnnie Walker Black Label that he couldn't drink in his cupboard couldn't bring his mood down. He spotted his up-and-coming nurse in the kitchen he smiled as he put on his leather jacket, "Were my stats fine for last night?"

"They were all within the normal range," she said as she moved to follow House out of the front door, "I'll see you at ten tonight?"

"That would be great," answered House as he clipped his cane to his bike, "You know I talked to that doctor, and I won't be taking methadone for much longer," the girl nodded, and thought, 'I'll write her a recommendation for after she passes her exam and is a registered nurse.'

"Just keep me posted."

House climbed onto the motorcycle and the paused looking over at the girl again he smiled and thought, 'I should tell Chase in case I procrastinate with the letter, and I probably won't have to explain anything, and he'll remind me." The elder watched the girl search for her car keys in her purse before opening the car door and getting in.

Putting on his helmet and turning the key in the ignition, House waited a moment to see if his up-and-coming RN was going to say anything else. After watching the girl start her car, he pulled out of his parking spot and pulled into traffic.

House loved his motorcycle, and he loved it even more that he was certain that his leg was not going to act up and distract him. Although the vibrations from the bike helped the pain in his right leg to a degree, that didn't mean that the leg didn't shake. Brushing such thoughts to the back of his mind, he was pain free and happy he wanted it to stay that way.

Pulling into the handicapped spot in the parking lot of Princeton-Plainsboro, House turned off his bike. He had a jerky lapse in memory for a moment; his muscle memory made a grab for his cane while brain said he didn't need it. Shaking his head he dismounted the bike and grabbed his cane making it inside the building.

The Nephrologist decided that he wanted to grab something from the cafeteria so after quickly checking in with the nurses that all glared at him, he made his way to the cafeteria. When he entered the room he noticed two things one was that Chase was eating breakfast with Cameron. The not-so-shiny haired wombat sat back to the door and couldn't see House, Cameron ignored him if she saw him, and Wilson was reading a periodical at a booth along the wall.

Making his way over to his one friend, House slid into the seat across from the oncologist. Wilson did not acknowledge his presence immediately but House just figured that he was angry at him, again or finishing the paragraph that he was reading. A couple of section of Wilson's papers sat on the corner of the table. The oncologist finally glanced away from his paper, picked up his coffee mug took a sip and looked into blue eyes, "You can have a section of the paper, but I'm reading."

"Have at it," House shrugged with a look that clearly said he didn't know why his friend was getting on his case. Adapting a bored expression House riffled through the discarded pages of Wilson's Paper and settled on the front page. It was suppose to have the most interesting, eye catchers in the paper—which amounted to a car crash. Taking the paper away from his face he looked at his friend again, and then down at the paper plate with half a bagel, "You gonna eat that?"

Wilson folded the paper down so he could see House and then looked down at the half a bagel on his plate, "Have at it," House picked up the bagel and took a bite, he scanned the cafeteria, when his attention was drawn back to Wilson who had put down his paper, "Did you just ask my permission before you took my food?"

"Yes we can," House snarked.

The friends were cut off from anything else when Lisa Cuddy held out a blue file towards House, "Adolescent genetic mosaic collapsed during a basketball game, presenting with persistent pelvic pain."

"Fun!" House said with a lit in his voice as he took the file off the administrator's hands.

"The parents haven't told their son that he could have been their daughter. They want assurance that you won't either," Cuddy added quickly.

Finishing off the bagel, House tucks the file under his arm, "Less fun, but still." Standing up using his cane House slowly made his way out of the cafeteria.

As he was walking away he thought he heard Cuddy say, "That was easy."

House made his way quickly to the elevator; there were a couple people in there with him, getting a steady footing the elder doctor hooked his cane over his left arm. Taking out his cell phone he text Chase a single word, "Euphoric."

A little voice in the back of his head kept nagging the Diagnostician; he shouldn't be smiling, step light, heart singing. The true bit of House behind the euphoric haze, sneered at the mere inkling of a singing heart, or any of the other drivel that was currently masquerading as himself. Stepping out of the elevator and walking towards the copy machine closest to his department and his kids, House was disgusted with himself and yet when the rational part of his brain brought it up the haze and singing drowned it out before he could even think that there was anything seriously wrong.

House made enough copies of the patient file for Foreman and his kids and then continued on his way to the glass conference room. He smiled at the sight that he greeted as he approached, all of his kids were sitting, and dare he think eagerly around the table waiting for him. Taking a deep breath and wiping the grin off his face, he had a passing thought that euphoria really wasn't bad, in fact it was great.

Stepping into the room he moved towards the head of the table waiting for his natural presence to draw the attention of those in the room. Tossing each one a blue file he half smiled, "Our new patient, part girl, part boy, all Thirteen's dream date."

He ignored the look that he received from Thirteen, and then he looked around that table as his fellows flipped through the file. "Severe pelvic pain started during a basketball game, could be dehydration," said Eric Foreman glance up from the file in his hand.

Kutner shook his head slightly and looked towards House, "ER gave him fluids when he came in."

Foreman disagreed, "Still, it feels chronic."

The elder doctor walked away from the table towards the window. Anyone who walked into the room would probably assume that he wasn't paying any attention to the people talking, but to the happenings of the outside world. In truth House was intently listening and turning over each idea and fact that was said in his own head, weighing its importance. He just hoped his kids didn't realise that he was listening to them. Foreman stated the obvious, Kutner supported him that the case was interesting, now it was time to hear something else obvious—but more useful. His mind turned towards Taub and waited.

The ex-plastic surgeon added, "We got a kid who could mate with himself and we think he didn't have enough to drink? There are dozens of intersex disorders; persistent pelvic pain could mean Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia, PMDS?"

The Indian doctor who by now was standing said, "Those conditions occur in intersex kids who are chromosomally XX or XY, not XX and XY. Parents recently started him on testosterone, maybe there's something—"

"Vitamins wouldn't cause pelvic pain," interrupted Thirteen, everyone turned to look at her in question as the room fell silent, "there's a note in here, we're supposed to refer to his testosterone shots as vitamins. His parents aren't just liars; they want us to be liars too."

The eldest quickly turned towards his fellows studying the seriousness of Thirteen,'Everybody lies,' thought House in mild disgust, "I won't do it," he said drawing the shocked attention of his fellows, perhaps it was the tone of his voice? He thought quickly about the situation, as fun as telling the kid would be—"You guys will though." He stared to pace towards the door.

"He's a kid. Parents don't think he's ready to deal with it," said Taub trying to be understanding from a logical stand point.

The female doctor nodded, "My dad was the same way about me maybe having Huntingtons, its—"

"Well that was your experience... must surely apply in this situation," sneered House, it wasn't too long ago that she refused to look at her test results, then she was destructive—she really had no reason to be so open, it didn't add up. And now she gave House this look of a mildly kicked puppy, as he walked closer to the table.

'House is an ass,' the thought was repeated a hundred times a day; Thirteen took a deep breath and retaliated, "Pain could be caused by a blind uterus hidden in his abdomen. He needs an MRI."

Forman snapped back trying to make it appear like adding insult to injury, "Right, boy with girl genes; I'm sure you're the first doctor brilliant enough to check for a uterus. He could have complications from the surgeries on his penis that can cause pelvic pain."

"Way to multitask," House smiled, he loved drama, "impress your boss and humiliate your ex," He thought for a half a second before adding, "MRI's a waste of time. To continue the humiliation, go put a camera up his penis."

The kids began to get up and head for the door, House even turned towards the door of the conference room as if he was making sure his kids did as they were told. Instead of everyone being able to do their jobs their way was blocked by two figures that stood just inside the door. Blue eyes looked at the couple, and they were a couple; he was wrapped around her, as she worried her hands. They looked nervous, anxious, and worried—the parents.

"You're Dr. House, aren't you? What do you think is wrong with our son?" said the unknown woman.

This woman clearly shocked House, he knew that someone must have told the loving parents that he was an ass with a cane, so asking who he was followed by such a demand was just shocking, this way the reason he never saw patients, "These people were just coming to tell you. This is better; don't have to worry about them losing their way."

The woman blinked put back for a moment, "We think that he has a blind uterus, he should have an MRI."

This was why House hated patients—and their parents, the thought they knew more than him. Blue eyes glanced over to look at Thirteen, "Did you send them a text?"

"Over the past thirteen years, we've educated ourselves," the husband spoke, bringing everyone's attention back towards them and away from the girl that was shaking her head.

House sighed in annoyance, "Well, who needs med school when you've got Wi-Fi?" House thought a moment tuning towards his team; an MRI was useless, but another hazy voice said that it wouldn't hurt, "Go schedule their son for an MRI with contrast right away."

When House glances back at the parents they have a sort of relieved look on their face, the husband murmurs, "Thank you," before ushering his wife out of the conference room and back to their son.

Everyone starts to move the kids head out the door following the parents towards the patient and House with a minute shake of his head and a half-yawn turned to head into his office. At first the older doctor didn't realise that he was not alone until Kutner spoke up, "You just said an MRI was a waste of time."

Blue eyes glanced back at his most hazardous fellow, "So's arguing with them." House turned back towards his office and entered it, while Kutner watched him in confusion before leaving the conference room himself.

When he was sure that Kutner was no longer around, House drew all of the blinds around his office and dropped his cane. Pacing the length of his office a few times he smiled brightly, He knew on Chase regime he would soon lose this feeling of no pain, but it didn't worry him, he almost didn't care.

House's cell phone vibrated in his pocket, wondering if his kids had already screwed up he flipped it open with mild annoyance. Blue eyes quickly scanned the text and if it was possible the smile grew, and House didn't know why the only news in the text message was that the patient was still relatively fine, which from House's perspective really wasn't that good.

He read the text from Chase a second time to make sure he knew exactly how he was going to answer, "Yes, the euphoria seems permanent" he said with another grin, texting the answer to Chase, House flopped back in his chair and let out a relaxing sigh. Today was a good day.

The rational part of House's brain argued that it was just a temporary release of endorphins that gave him this euphoric haze that was caused purely from the methadone and House wasn't truly happy but his usual miserable self. But a tiny miniscule part of House wanted to be happy; not this type of happy, more like the 'with Stacy happy'—but House really couldn't think about that at the moment.

The moment called for an internal bet with himself, the state of the patient when his kids came home. There was no blind uterus, he was sure of that. Complication with the surgeries on the kid's penis was a possibility. He really wanted another clue, picking up his tennis ball he tossed it up and leant back in his chair and caught the ball. He looked pensively at the ball for a moment before turning his chair slightly. He threw the ball at his one opaque wall and caught it on its way back down. He did this partially in the hopes that the thumping would annoy Wilson and then his one friend would come and entertain him. It hadn't happened yet.

Throwing the ball high against the wall, House leant far back in his chair in hopes to catch the wayward ball. The red and grey tennis ball brushed the outstretched tips of his fingers and rolled of and hit the far wall disrupting the blinds slightly.

With a sigh Gregory twirled his chair around and scanned the floor for his ball before he got up walked over and picked up the ball his hand brushed the blinds and he noticed that there was someone sitting at the conference room table. Standing up with the ball in his hand House put the tennis ball back on his desk and grabbed his cane. Walking over to the wall that separated his office from the conference room, House opened the curtain to see that his fellows were sitting around the table looking slightly stressed.

Walking into the conference room he looked around at the faces of his kids, "So what else do we get to add to the board?" Quickly glancing at the board as he walked around the table he noticed that it was blank. With a shrug he took a seat at the far head of the table. All the eyes in the room fallowed him and watched as he took his seat and leaned forward elbows on his knees, lifting up his cane he looked at it contemplatively, "well?"

The kids jumped and looked around finally Thirteen said, "We drained the fluid from his pericardial space; his heart rate is back to normal."

Taub added, "Pelvis, plus heart, doesn't fit with any of the syndromes associated with mosaicism."

House listened carefully to his fellows holding his cane between his fingers and leaning his chin on the tops of his hands. He was content at the moment to simply let his kids say stupid or useless things, hoping to hit upon something that was at least a good idea.

"Could be drugs, toxins, an infection?" Foreman said but it came out as a question.

"You're okay with this?" Kutner almost sounded angry as he turned towards House.

Blue eyes glanced up, "With what?"

Kutner looked a bit more annoyed, "That we're considering a diagnosis unrelated to this kid being a shemale. Assuming a coincidence like that would usually torture you, but you're completely unfazed."

House sat back in his chair looking at the Indian doctor, "Completely unfazed? You think I'm totally lacking in any fazing? The idea that I'm anything less than half-fazed, I actually find offensive. It greatly fazes me."

Thirteen cut in, "He started testosterone —"

"Vitamins," House cut in mockingly.

Unfazed the female doctor continued her train of thought, "A few months ago. That can cause autoimmune diseases like Polyarteritis and SLE, which can cause pericardial effusion and pelvic pain. So it is related."

House looked around the conference table lingering on his fellows that seemed to be angry, if only minutely, at him, "Now I'm unfazed. Start him on corticosteroids for the autoimmune and Finasteride to block the vitamins."

Blue eyes watched as his kids got up from the table and left the conference room. Spinning his cane around he placed the end on the floor and stood up, walking over to his jacket he looked through the pockets for his PSP, it wasn't there. Turning on his heels he scanned his office to see if he left his video game on his desk or any other surface in the room. With a long sigh he decided he should probably head down to the clinic before Cuddy began to bother him again.

When he reached the clinic and signed in, only twenty or so minutes late for his shift, he grabbed a file to get a patient. The nurse at the station stopped him and shook her head pointing to exam room one and the patient folder that was by the door waiting for him. House just nodded and headed towards one of his favourite sanctuaries, half wondering why the nurse seemed to be holding back a malicious smile.

Grabbing the file, House knocked twice on the door and entered exam room one. There was a boy sitting there waiting for him. Glancing down at the file he quickly read, the kids name was Ian looking back up at the kid he would hazard a guess that he was stoned. Taking a seat House glanced down at the file, "So, you have pain in one arm and both your legs. Does it hurt right now?"

"No, it's, when, I like put pressure on them. See, it hurts when I do this," Ian murmured as he held up right hand forefinger out. Slowly he poked his left upper arm. Looking up at House he gave a bored yet over dramatised, "Ow, and this," he paid careful attention as he poked his left thigh with the same right index finger and in the same tone of voice looked at House and said, "Ow, and this," and lastly on some form of horrid repeat Ian poked his right upper leg, "Ow."

House looked at Ian through the whole 'explanation' one thought ran through his head, 'If he is not stoned... he was dropped repeatedly on his head as a baby.' With a sigh House rolled the chair forward taking the patients figure in his hand, "How about this?" with a mocking tone in his voice House squeezed the finger.

In the same detached voice Ian let out a load and long, "Ow!"

House sat back looking at Ian as if he was stupider than a sponge. While Ian just looked at his finger in some form of amazement. Hose shook his head writing down the actually diagnosis in the kid's chart, "You have a broken finger."

"That makes sense," said Ian looking at House with wide eyes, "my hand did get caught in the door."

With another sigh House put down his pen and took up Ian's right hand checking to see if his other fingers were broken. When house touched either the middle or ring finger Ian twitched, House figured that was wince while high, the fingers were only mildly bruised. Noting that Ian was probably holding the jamb when the door closed on his hand House looked back up at his patient, "You only broke the one finger," Ian bobbed his head, "next time you stupidly slam a door on your hand, "Ian opened his mouth, "or let someone else slam a door on your hand or do anything that you might not normally do... unless for a bet, make sure you don't need a doctor," House looked up at Ian who was back to bobbing his head and agreeing with the doctor, "On second thought you're too stupid, just see a doctor."

"That makes sense," mumbled Ian.

House looked at the youth, he was very amusing it wasn't often that he could insult someone to their face and they would agree with him. Deep down House realised that Ian was probably use to being called stupid. A little voice also told him that he wasn't up to his usual level of cynicism. Running a hand down his face he set the patient's file down on the tray using his cane to get up he moved towards the cupboard and rifled through it looking for a foam splint and tape. Ian had broken the proximal hand phalange close to the intermediate hand phalange; so he would need to splint the joint separating metacarpal 2 from the proximal hand phalange and the proximal hand phalange from the distal hand phalange.

Turning towards Ian he held out a length of foam splinting, "I'm going to splint your finger do not remove it and come back in a week to have it looked at again."

Ian bobbed his head, "All right."

House just nodded and held the foam up to Ian's finger he made sure that the foam covered the knuckle before cutting it to size and taping it onto the finger. House watched Ian carefully when he was done as the boy frowned and flexed his hand, "Be careful in the shower, when you sleep, eat etcetera," House watched as the frown increased, "Look at it this way it will be hard to write with your right hand or even type on a computer for a week with that on."

Ian looked at him for a moment trying to figure out why House was telling him all that, but then he realised that he still had classes that week, "Sweet man!"

House got up from his spot and smiled at the ludicrous person he was in the room with. Opening the door he stepped out and waited for Ian to gather his things to leave as well. With an amused smile on his face he watched as the most idiotic person he had ever met walked away, suddenly Ian turns around holding up his right hand, forefinger and little finger up, "Thanks brah."

The doctored just nodded, putting the file back in the slot he found it in; he twirled his cane for a moment, deciding that he had had enough clinic duty for a month with that idiot and walked off towards his office. They never missed him in the clinic anyways; he was normally never even there.

Standing in a surprisingly empty elevator, House decided he was a bit tired. He also knew that it would not be a wise decision for him to take a nap at work. He was half hoping that their patient had done something else new and interesting to help his brain move safely away from the stupidity of the clinic. He got out of the elevator and made his way over toward his office, he was disappointed to see the conference room empty.

House entered his office looked around for a moment he put his cane against the wall and took off his jacket. He looked around his office to see if there was anything that he wanted to do. Deciding against anything mindless at the moment, he flopped relieved into his chair and propped his feet up on the matching foot stool. Leaning back he stretched and yawned closing his eyes, 'just for a moment' he told himself, as he thought of anything else but Ian's stupidity.

House was jerked awake by a terrible pain coming from his nipples he half flew off the chair with a load scream of pain.

As a way of answering the questions on House's mind Wilson said, "You stopped breathing."

Taking a couple more deep breaths House looked around the room to see not only Wilson, but Cuddy and half of his team all looking at him with worry. Cuddy interrupted House's train of thought, "What the hell is going on?"

House felt a bit bad, Chase had even thought that he should have talked to Wilson or Cuddy. And it was true that he needed someone in this situation that wouldn't cave to any of his ridiculous notions. In the same thought House realised that James Wilson was his friend and Lisa Cuddy did put up with all the crazy shit he had done over the years. But still a larger portion wanted to do this on his terms and as long as House had known Chase he was on House's own terms.

The elder doctor was pulled from his thoughts by an oxygen mask being placed over his mouth and nose. Looking around his office he noticed that Taub and Thirteen had now joined the group. His attention was dragged back to Cuddy as she began to shine a light in his eyes checking for the reaction of his pupils.

Removing the mask House looked down at Cuddy, "I think my penis stopped breathing; do you know CPR?" before putting the mask back on.

Cuddy rolled her eyes with a disgusted look on her face, "Looks like your brain is Okay. Pupils are equal, round, and reactive." She got up and moved away from House looking around for her stethoscope, or any stethoscope.

"I'm fine," snarked House removing the mask and moving around in his chair, "other than the fact that my nurple is now purple, " with a sneer at Forman he looks towards Thirteen, "no wonder you broke up with him. I'm surprised yours are still attached." House looked his female team member over as she glanced at Foreman he noticed the folder she was carrying, "By the way, I can see that from here. I assume those are our patient's lab results."

Thirteen looked at House almost surprised, "Patient can wait; you could have died."

House didn't answer he didn't want them all focused and worried about him, he sighed. Wilson watched his friend for a moment and then glared, "The only reason you'd ignore a near death experience is you don't care or you already know why it happened."

'Shit,' House thought, but said, "It's called vicodin, I took too many." Cuddy now came back over to him with a stethoscope and started to listen to his breathing, with a glare House spoke in raised volumes, "Can I please get some information about our patient?" House watched in self satisfaction as Cuddy winced and took the stethoscope away from her ears and House. Blue eyes then looked up at his team expectantly.

"Patient's palms are red; lab tests confirm liver and kidney dysfunction," Thirteen answered quickly.

"I don't remember you taking any Vicodin today," Kutner added looking at his immediate boss with suspicion.

House cursed at Kutner's eye for the little things, as he buttoned his shirt, "I don't remember hiring my Mother. What causes the enzymes in little Boy George's existing heart problem and pelvic pain?"

Everyone ignored House as Wilson accused, "You didn't take any yesterday at breakfast either."

"I don't remember having breakfast with my Mother," House growled at his friend.

Foreman decided to answer House, "Amyloidosis with systemic involvement."

"Protein levels are normal. This kid's depressed, if he's self-medicating with drugs and alcohol that would explain his symptoms," Thirteen added.

House scanned the faces of his team, "Search the school; search the home."

"Seriously, or are you just deflecting?" asked Kutner shocked.

"Both," House snarls, looking around the room for his cane and jacket, he picks up his cane and stands up, walking towards his jacket.

Cuddy interrupts him, "Where are you going?"

House glance around the room and glares at Cuddy while he picks up his jacket, "Nowhere, I'm staying right here, so we can properly discuss this." House walks out of his office and down the hall towards the elevator. He needed to talk to Chase.

Once Hose was in the elevator he watched and waited for the doors to close to make sure that no one was going to try and follow him. Taking out his cell phone House checked the time, last he knew Chase didn't have surgery to attend. He quickly typed in, '911 meet me in your locker room.' House got off the elevator and made his way towards the locker room nearest the ICU where Chase's things were.

Unsurprisingly he was there before Chase, taking a deep breath he sat down on the bench in front of Robert Chase's locker and began to tap his cane against the floor as he waited.

It did not take long before the blond doctor slipped into the locker room and leaned against the lockers opposite of where his old boss sat, "So what happened?"

"Fell asleep in my office, I wasn't trying to so I might have passed out, I wasn't breathing and my pulse was probably weak," House told Chase as he looked up at the doctor, as an afterthought with a glare he added, "Foreman gave me a purple nurple to wake me up."

Chase gave House an inquisitive look, "Foreman did what?"

"Is there no purple nurples in England?" House asked with a smirk, Chase just crossed his arms across his chest and looked hard at House, "Fine, he twisted my left nipple... hard."

Robert Chase chuckled a moment before becoming serious again. Nodding his head he moved around the bench to his locker. Opening his locker he took from his messenger bag his notebook, flipping it to the back and his 'House Notes' he straddled the bench facing House.

"So when did this event occur? What were you doing before it happened?" asked Chase as hhe took a pen from the pocket of his scrubs and poised it on the paper.

Thinking for a moment, House said, "About a half an hour ago. I don't know when I passed out exactly. I showed up for the clinic about twenty minutes late. I had the most idiotic college student ever, dealt with him for another twenty minutes or so and then decided I need a break," Chase gave an amused snort waiting for House to continue, "went back to my office, but I forgot my PSP I sat down and was just trying to forget the stupid. The next thing I know my nurple is purple."

"Were your stats checked by anyone?"

"Yes," House nodded, with a sneer he added "I was given an oxygen mask, the only thing that had been said out load was that my pupils were normal, but how dare they because patient usually want to know what their stats are."

Blue eyes watched as the Australian wrote down a few more things before he took the stethoscope from around his shoulders and put the buds in his ears. Chase checked House's pulse and breathing. When he was done he returned the stethoscope to the place around his neck, and then wrote down his findings. When Chase stopped writing he sat up straighter and looked at all the notes.

Green eyes looked up and met blue, "We will have to take you off the methadone sooner than planned," House nodded it was the wisest thing to do, "did you want to take one last dose this evening and start with the vicodin tomorrow?"

"That sounds fine," answered House. Even he could admit that as much as he disliked pain the methadone was dangerous. The blond twisted reaching into his bag and pulled out a prescription bottle, handing it to House. Blue eyes looked at the bottle in his hand, he opened it as shook out a couple pills before placing them back into the bottle and the bottle into his pocket, "I'm not starting with high powered vicodin?"

"No," Chase shook his head, "Think of this as a crude sort of pain level test. The addiction should be out of your system, so the pain should react better to the vicodin. Take pill as you see fit at the end of three days I want to know how you feel and how many pills you took in an average day, if there was any extra stress added that may have affected that amount and so forth. Based off of that amount, we'll either move you up to the vicodin hp or keep you on this regiment. Whenever you need a prescription come to me I won't be restricting your vicodin intake." 'yet' thought Chase in his head, as he looked at House who opened his mouth as if to ask how this was going to help manage his vicodin intake but decided against it.

"Good to see you taking this seriously," said House his voice sounded a bit on the defeated side.

"Of course," smiled Chase, "I better be getting back to work though."

Both doctors stood up and walked out of the locker room the turned in opposite directions and headed off. Chase glanced back at House as the elder walked towards the elevator. The blond doctor noticed that the elder certainly did walk away at that moment, more then he limped. He did feel for House who would go back to a state of pain, the next day.

House walked back into his office, at first he had thought that it was empty, he half wondered where his team, Cuddy and Wilson had gone. He hoped in the case of his team that they had gone to do as he had said. It did not take him long to notice however that he was not actually alone—Kutner sat in the chair that he had passed out in, holding a hand pump oxygen bag, "What are you doing here?"

"Wilson and Cuddy figured you would return here when everyone left, I was told to wait and then watch you to make sure you are still breathing."

"How very kind of you," House snarled, "but you can leave now."

"Sorry," said Kutner with a shrug.

House glared at the Indian for a moment before taking a seat in his office chair. Leaning his cane against the wall, he picked up his tennis ball and rolled it in his hands. He watched Lawrence; he was trying to decide what to do in his boredom, how best to get the young doctor to leave him alone. He smiled and threw his ball in the air, "Doesn't it just make you feel special that Wilson and Cuddy both thought that you are such a great doctor they gave you this important job."

Kunter pouted for a moment before turning half-hopeful eyes on House, "I know that most people around here think I'm an idiot, but you hired me." The hopeful 'right?' was left unsaid.

Blue eyes studied his young fellow. Kutner did do plenty of stupid things, setting patients on fire, just to mention one. But just earlier that day he had noticed something that no one else had noticed his lack of vicodin intake, and Wilson—his best friend—hadn't noticed until the Indian doctor had mention his own observation.

House tossed and caught the ball a few more times in a ploy to appear to be ignoring the other doctor, when that didn't get a reaction he answered the unasked question, "Never had an employee get fired so many times and still stand before me."

Lawrence Kutner smiled a goofy grin, House could still see the pain in his eyes, "No, you fired number six, nine, and 'Former Foster Kid'."

The elder doctor chuckled catching the ball again, "I feel like I might have fired the 'Former Foster Kid' more than once," House shrugged and threw the ball up again, "So if I fire Kutner, what am I going to call you?"

Kutner laughed, "Doctor Kutner, or maybe even Lawrenc-" dark eyes widened as House's arms went slack, his eyes rolled back, and the tennis ball hit his head on its downward path and rolled to the ground, "shit!" Kutner exclaimed scrambling to get up and run over to House. In his haste he didn't think to even check House's breathing instead he put the mask over his boss' nose and mouth.

Before the brunet could pump air into House's lungs and hand reached up and pulled the apparatus away, "If you jump to conclusions like that, I might have to fire Kutner."

"Don't do this House, we're worried about you," answered Kutner with a hurt face as he moved to sit down again.

House got up and retrieved his ball as an afterthought he rubbed his forehead, sitting back down he began throwing the ball against his singular solid wall, "I never asked you to worry about me, there is really no need for you to baby sit. I am older then you, you know."

This continued for a good portion of the remaining work day. House would fake passing out, the first couple times Kutner would rush over to check his vitals. At the very least after that initial fake out Kutner always checked to see how House was doing before trying to resuscitate his boss. After the third or fourth time House played his joke, he could hear the initial noise of Kutner jerking his feet, but a second later him murmured, "House I can see your chest rising from here."

It was then that House decided that he needed to get more sneaky in his game and worked on slowing or even holding his breath. Kutner fell for it two more times. On the third time Kutner stood up but stayed near the chair he had been occupying until he saw House breath, in his head Kutner told himself that he would go over after three minutes.

Partially annoyed that his game was found out, and partially happy that his fellow was learning, House changed his tactic. Placing the ball down on his desk he glared at Kutner, "I'm going to take a nap, is that okay with you, mommy?"

The other doctor blinked, "You probably shouldn't House."

"Good thing you aren't my mommy than," replied House his he put his legs up on the desk and leaned back in his chair closing his eyes. House knew the risk he was running by doing this but his brain kept a buzz with trying to hear and guess Kutner's next moves. He also felt a bit more secure because he knew that those dark orbs were watching him and would make sure that he would wake up, if not well he could see if and who in the religious debate wins.

In the first ten or so minutes Kutner got up and moved closer to House. He must have seen the older doctor's chest rise and fall at the closer angle. House felt that it sounded like Kutner was walking backwards. Possibly, it was so that he could concentrate on his chest and tell whether or not he was breathing from the chair near the door.

The clocked ticked by as House continued to fake his sleep. He finally heard the sounds of footsteps enter his office and he perked to attention internally, there was a slight rustle of paper and then Thirteen's voice, "I stand alone my soul and me/beneath the mask that others," there was a brief pause "see."

"His chest is still rising. He's just screwing with me 'cause Cuddy made me babysit." House heard Kutner say but decided to still play his game.

Thirteen continued to read, "A pain that tears and bites and will not bend/only when I sleep, will it end."

House sighs as he switches tactics, "Downer, and medically ire…" he lets his voice trail off to see the next reaction of his kids.

"You sure his chest is moving?" asked Thirteen.

Thirteen had disrupted Kutner's flow; he stood up and took a couple steps towards his boss, "House?"

"If he's faking you think he's going to come clean because you said his name?" added in Thirteen.

House hears whom he assumes is Kutner still moving closer to him again, "Back off. Only Thirteen gets to grab my nipples this time."

"You know, recreating the moment when you made us crap our pants isn't actually all that funny," Dr. Remy Hadley said.

Blue eyes cracked open and looked at the occupants of his office, he was going to say that it was funny when Kutner falls for it, but Foreman cuts him off with a sardonic sweet voice, when he puts his hand on Thirteen's shoulder, "That is sweet that you're worried about House."

The eldest lifts up his head and looks at the former Foreteen it was truly strange to see, thinking about the poem for a second he adds, "Unless the next stanza reads, 'Hoping to fry my brain to death/I smoked some primo crystal meth,' I'm not interested."

"You can't deny that this kid may be suicidal," Thirteen shook her head.

"We're not here to make him happy; we're here to diagnose him," House pointed out.

Blue eyes could see that the female member of his team was about to object but at that moment the ex-plastic surgeon entered the office and said, "It's an infection. Swab of the kid's water bottle turned up Toxoplasmosis."

He didn't really like the idea but it was better than the poem Thirteen had found. House looks pointedly at the brunet female, "I'll start him on Pyrimethamine." House's eyes vaguely follow Thirteen out of the room as Foreman stared at him, blue eyes locked with brown as the stared at each other.

The staring got old, without breaking eye contact with his eldest fellow, the one he never thought would stay in diagnostics, and he sat up, "Don't you guys have somewhere to be? It is quitting time. If the kid gets worse the nightshift will page us."

Everyone in the room looked at House for a moment before they turned around and exited the office. Right when they were exiting Wilson approached ready to go home. He waited until the doorway was free and then walked into House's office.

"It's snowing outside, you shouldn't ride your bike home. I was going to grab a burger at that place you like near your place, did you want to come?" asked Wilson in his usual 'I am helping you willingly at the expense of myself, love me,' voice.

Blue eyes glanced quickly outside to see the light snow falling. Wilson was right the snow would make the streets very slushy, not to mention that the seat of his motorcycle would be covered in the wet flakes.

With a nod House reached down and opened the bottom drawer of his desk pulling out a bike cover, "All right just let me cover my bike first."

"I'll pull my car around and meet you by your parking place," said Wilson with a half-smile as he turned and left the glass office.

The elder doctor watched his friend go, before he placed the bike cover on his desk. Moving around the office he made sure that his bag was packed. Glancing quickly at his bike helmet he decided against taking it with him it made more sense to leave it there. In hind sight he shouldn't have taken the bike to work that day it really was too cold. Just because it had been warming up lately, he thought it would be fine but the city still had their Christmas lights up, so he should have known better. Dislodging his thoughts House put on his jacket, picked up his bag, and grabbed the cover and his cane; before shutting off his lights and leaving his office.

House made his way out of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, hoping that Wilson was already waiting for him. When he reached his bike and there was no Wilson, the doctor turned to face the direction that his friend would be coming from and waited.

Wilson pulled up alongside House with an annoyed look on his face. The elder doctor gave him a mocking smile before opening the driver's side passenger door. Throwing his bag into the back of Wilson's car, leaning over he picked up the windshield scraper with a brush before walking over to his bike.

Using the brush, House removed as much snow as possible from the bike; he unfolded the cover, brushed off the seat last, and covered the bike hoping that it would help preserve the bike better in the cold.

Walking back towards the car House put the scraper in the back seat closed the door and walked around and got in the front seat. His fingers were frozen and a part of him felt like being childish and putting them up to the air vents in the car. But his plans were foiled when he realised that the car was still blowing cold air.

Wilson pulled out of the hospital parking lot and quietly drove to the restaurant. The oncologist was content to stay quiet, but House engaged him in small talk, "So how was work today? Tell anyone they were dying? Have anyone die?"

"I'm an oncologist, House!" Wilson bit back, shooting a quick glare towards his friend before looking at the road again.

"That's why I ask," said Gregory House with a false tone of caring, "I want to make sure you're okay."

Wilson sighed, "I'm glad to see that almost dying, hasn't affected you at all."

"You say that like I almost die, all the time," replied House.

The car was silent, Wilson stopped at a red light turned to look at House and glared, "Of course not House, only once a year for the last three years. You're actually over your quota this year, you were already held hostage."

"Green light," said House and watched his fuming friend turn and begin to drive towards the restaurant again, "Not all of those were my fault, I didn't ask to get shot. And you cannot count being held hostage; I wasn't even shot in that one."

Wilson sighed as they pulled into the restaurant parking lot, "I worry about you, could you please try to hold a little bit more regard for your life."

The two men sat there in the car looking at one another for a moment before House opened the door and got out of the car. Closing the door, he walked towards the restaurant. Wilson caught up to his friend and they entered the restaurant together.

They smiled at their hostess a young girl who recognised the two doctors, she picked up two menus looked at the seating chart momentarily and then lead the two friends to a corner table that was just big enough for two people. She smiled at them and left.

House leafed through the menu paying close attention to the burger baskets, deciding that he wasn't in the mood for some sort of fancy burger he decided on a simple cheeseburger and closed his menu.

When the waitress came around they placed their orders and both of them got a coke. Neither of the doctors talked for the longest time. The drinks came out right when Wilson opened his mouth to say something to his friend; instead he put the straw in the soda and began to sip continuously at his drink.

The blue-eyed doctor didn't seem to mind that his friend was stalling some sort of conversation. When the food came out House murmured, "You don't have to worry about me, I am an adult."

Wilson sighed took a bit from his own meal looking at his friend, "I know, and I am sorry."

The two continued to eat their meals engaging in their usual banter and small talk. At one point House got up and told Wilson, "If the waitress comes before I get back I would like a refill." The ex-Marine brat got up with the help of his cane and made his way towards the restroom.

When House returned he was only able to take a few bites of his fries before Wilson's phone rang. House continued to eat until he saw a look on Wilson's face that was close to panic. Under the guise of still eating, the elder doctor watched his friend closely.

While the doctor was distracted by his eavesdropping a waitress came by and placed two drinks on the table. Before Wilson sat a light coloured beer, and next to House's own plate was a single shot of what looked like a form of whisky. The arrival of the drinks sufficiently distracted the doctor from Wilson's conversation.

"Sorry, consult," Wilson said drawing House's attention.

House looked at his friend ate a fry and said, "When did you order these?"

"When you were in the bathroom. I thought a celebration was in order," answered Wilson as he raised his glass towards House, "To cheating death." Picking up the shot House clinked the glass against Wilson's and watched as his friend took a sip. Blue eyes watched for a moment before putting the shot back down on the table, Wilson met House's gaze and then added, "You off bourbon? We can get you something else."

"I came here expecting a burger. Figured I'd have to endure a little lecture on moderation," House countered.

Wilson scowled, "You never listen. So why —"

"Instead," House cut his friend off, "I get a drink; a nice little serving of respiratory depressant on the day that my lungs stop working."

"You seem fine now," James Wilson tried to shrug off.

Blue eyes took in the oncologist, "You don't believe that I OD'd on Vicodin. You figure I'm on something stronger, and because you can never, ever assume anything but the most screwed up scenario as far as I'm concerned —"

Wilson scuffed and cut into House's tirade, "Funny how I'm usually right."

"You think that I'm on Heroin," House realised, letting anger seep into his voice, "this is your version of a tox screen. Because if I am on Heroin; I can't drink that without risking another bout of not breathing."

"Well?" said Wilson not expecting to have been called on his little game in public. He watched wide eyed as his friend looked at the shot, picked it up, and tipped it back.

Placing the shot back down, House glared at the younger doctor, "Goodnight." Picking up his cane, House used it to help him stand and left the restaurant.

As soon as House was out of the restaurant and out of eye shot of the windows he picked up his cane and picked up his pace. Going around the back of the restaurant House lent against the dumpster in the snow and shoved his fingers down his throat hoping to bring up the alcohol quick enough. He gagged a couple time before he finally uprooted his dinner and most importantly the bourbon. Putting his fingers back down his throat, House forced himself to heave a couple more times to insure that all of the alcohol and sadly his meal were out of his stomach.

"You idiot!" yelled Wilson, the sudden noise startled House, he looked up and over at his friend feeling like a deer in the headlights if he didn't look like it.

Thinking quickly, "Okay, I admit it. I have bulimia. I look good though, don't I?"

"Heroin," Wilson was hysteric, "Heroin! House, of all the stupid—"

Greg cut his friend off, "I'm not on heroin."

The oncologist was livid, "I just caught you with your fingers down your throat."

House sighed, he really didn't want to tell Wilson this, and he was going to stop the methadone in the morning, "I'm on methadone... stupid product... heroin without the high."

"Yeah, and twice the risk of death," added Wilson calming down if only slightly.

"But no risk of arrest," if they were going to play the pros and con game, then House would.

Wilson sighed worriedly, "You nearly died."

"Today was a fluke. I nodded off," the nephrologist easily lied.

Wilson got angrier, again, "Right, you're safe as long as you never sleep again. Mistime your dose, you die. Couple of drinks, you die. Mix it with the wrong drugs, you die. You want to detox from Vicodin? Pick something that won't kill you."

And this was exactly why House hadn't wanted to tell his friend, "I'm not detoxing."

As if to continue his tirade Wilson added, "If you're looking for something to help with your pain—"

House cut him off, "Doesn't help my pain, it eliminates it," He glares at his friend for a moment, turning around he put his cane in the dumpster. Quickly glancing around the alley House turned towards his apartment and began to walk away from his friend. When he was at the entrance of the alley the elder turned around momentarily, "My leg doesn't hurt anymore."

By the time House got home, what he had truly done had not permeated his head, until he had flopped down on his sofa to relax. The first thing he realised was that his bag was still in the back of Wilson's car. The second was the bottle of vicodin that was in his pocket. He sighed, thinking that perhaps he should call Chase and set back his pain management regime. But thinking about it more he realised that the positive effects of the methadone, if he didn't push himself, should last for a good portion of the next day.

Looking at the clock, he realised that it was almost 22:00 and his nurse-in-training would be there in a moment. Getting up, leaving the vicodin prescription on the coffee table House got dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt he had just entered the living room when there was a knock on the door.

House answered the door, greeted his night time watcher. There was never very much small talk between the two, she automatically went into the kitchen and poured him a dose of methadone before turning around and finding House rifling through the refrigerator.

The doctor pulled out couple day old Chinese takeout. Taking out a bowl, he emptied the container into the bowl before putting it in the microwave he hit the 'reheat' button and turned towards the woman in his home.

He took the plastic cup and sipped back the green medicine, "I fell asleep today and stopped breathing, you will really have to watch me tonight," throwing away the cup he studied the girl before him, "Dr. Chase is starting me back on vicodin tomorrow morning. I would like you to stay for the next couple nights to make sure there are no lingering side effects of methadone use. When I fall asleep dispose of the remaining methadone and please bring me the bottle of vicodin that is on the coffee table in the morning."

The microwave beeped and House turned retrieving his replacement diner. He slowly moved into the living room when the up-and-coming RN made him pause, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, this way you have a few days to settle back into your course," answered House as he sat down on the sofa, picked up the remote and flicked through his TiVo.

House finished off the Chinese food and then finished watching the episode of 'the L world' before he got up to go to bed.

The up-and-coming nurse woke House up in time to go to work she handed him the bottle of vicodin. House sat up and weighed the current bought of pain. Taking a single vicodin he got up to get ready for the day. Before leaving his apartment he made sure that his stats throughout the night were fine, and then he asked if he could get a ride to the hospital, he didn't want to risk driving aggravating his leg. He knew he could drive, but he also didn't have his cane.

This was different then the ketamine issue, that had been a potential fix for the rest of his life. He had run to work every day, and did not want to admit that it could not last. Methadone, on the other hand, he had know for a while that it was not permanent and he had taken his own. He was not going to reveal to his friend that he had taken these measures, when he jumped to conclusions like he had.

House knew, as he entered Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, that Wilson would tell Cuddy and the both of them would be out to corner and lecture him. Not in the mood for irrelevant lectures, House signed in and snuck as best as possible into the clinic. Looking around quickly he decided that he would have better luck avoiding lectures if he did actual work.

Not wanting to walk unnecessarily House picked up about a dozen patient charts and walked towards exam room one. Blue eyes glanced down and read the name of the person on the chart on the top of the pile. He paused for a long moment thinking over the situation; to avoid Cuddy he would have to attempt to not over aggravate any of the patients. Firming his resolve, he called out, "Marita Jones."

Blue eyes scanned the room until he spotted a young college age girl stand up. From where he was standing, he could see splotchy spots of redder skin. Allergic reaction, probably to her shampoo by the way her head and neck looked.

The girl walked in miserably gripping the edge of her baggy t-shirt. She had dark wavy hair that went down to mid-back; House could guess the extent of the rashes. Sitting heavily on the rolling stool he listened to the girl's story.

For the better part of the morning, House continued as such each time a patient left he would finish his charting and then roll over to the door and call out his next patient. Never would House think that he would do his clinic hours at a time he was not assigned to avoid Cuddy. It had the advantage of making Lisa Cuddy think that House would prefer to do his work—without being asked, and in its entirety—than listen to her or even see her. Part of him felt that Wilson should feel guilty for driving him to do work.

When House ran out of charts the pain had returned to a dull throb, taking out his vicodin he took two before he got up and left exam room one. He walked over to the front desk after making sure that Cuddy wasn't around and dropped the pile of files in front of a nurse.

The girl, someone House barely recognised stared shocked at him, "You never signed in, Dr. House."

House watched the girl thumb through his files to see if they were all done, "I must've forgot."

"To get these all done, you must have been here for a few hours," the nurse turned her own blue eyes to stare into House's.

"If it is lunch time that sounds about right," House half-sneered.

She studied House for a moment then glanced down at the desk, "You're still scheduled for this afternoon I will reschedule you."

"No matter what, I wasn't going to show up," said House as turned away from the young nurse with a bored look.

The elder doctor made his way past the cafeteria and into the elevator. He figured he had it timed right so he could avoid everyone. Quickly glancing into the cafeteria he spotted his friend and smiled.

Greg House made his way up to the oncology break room. Peaking into the room he didn't see anyone so he snuck in to make a peanut butter sandwich. House picked up the cleanest knife and the opened jar of peanut butter. Looking around blue eyes found the bread and gave a sneer of mild disgust—Wonder bread, you would think that doctors would be more concerned about their health then to eat Wonder bread.

Armed with a peanut butter sandwich House made his way back into the hall and down to where the vending machines were. House spared half a thought for his patient, but then remembered that labs did not magically appear.

Looking into the machines House decided on orange soda and pretzels to compliment the peanut butter. Since he was already at the end of the hall near the stairwell, he decided that it was an alright place to eat. Placing the soda and pretzels on the third step House carefully sat down holding out his sandwich. Once his legs were settled, house rested his sandwich on his left knee and popped the top of his soda can.

Eating quickly Hose decided that it was finally time to make an appearance in his office. As he approached the glass conference room and office he noticed that he was lucky they were both empty. Deciding to press his luck he walked into the conference room stood by the end of the table and waited a few moments. On the edge of the table was that month's issue of a Nephrology magazine that he got.

The standing was getting to him not enough for House to take another vicodin but enough to remember that he hadn't told Chase about Wilson yet. Taking out his cell phone House texted the blond doctor, "Wilson found out. I don't want him or Cuddy to know the real situation. I don't have a cane, might increase my pain."

Putting his phone away House looked around the quiet office for a moment. Glancing back down at the journal House shrugged his shoulders and decided the hiding would still be a good idea. Not wanting to walk very far or risk the elevators again House made his way into the bathroom.

Looking around he decided the stalls would be more private and probably more comfortable to sit. Picking a stall House sat down on the toilet, locked the door, glancing around his confines the doctor put the journal in his lap and then used his hand to support his leg as he lifted it up and put it on the toilet paper dispenser. Leaning back and getting as comfortable as he possibly could he flipped open his journal and began to read.

House tried to ignore the comings and goings of the restroom that he was reading in. A couple times the door of the stall that he was in was pushed on; it was occasionally accompanied by a curse. House would always glance up with an amused expression before going back to his reading.

Finally House heard the click of high heels on the bathroom title. It was an odd sound to hear in the men's room. The nephrologist tried to ignore it. Finally after a moment of silence Cuddy said, "You still breathing in there? 'Cause if not, I'm sending in janitorial."

House sighed helped his leg get from its resting position to the floor while rustling his journal he reached into his pocket and quietly took out two more vicodin quickly swallowing them House answered, "I'm not breathing, but it's strictly voluntary. Should've seen the guy who was in here before me."

"I know about the methadone," said Cuddy a hint of concern in her voice.

House sighed, he had been trying to avoid this, "It's legal. I have a prescription."

"Whatever doctor you conned into writing it clearly had no idea about your addiction issues — Your lack of —"

"He knows I'm in pain. What I put in my body is my business," House interrupted. He was getting angry he had gone to St. Sebastian's; they were wary since he had tried to con them numerous times before but accepted him into their Methadone Maintenance Treatment program. He had even called them after Chase had left that night.

"You keep taking this, you could die," argued Cuddy

He knew that, that was why he wasn't taking it anymore, "If you'd said that if I keep doing this you could die, then it'd be your business."

"I can't sit by and watch you kill yourself. As long as you're in my hospital, you can't do methadone."

House analysed the sentence first. There was an angry quaver in her voice, she didn't want him gone, and she just wanted to be in control of this or wanted to have been informed. Using the toilet paper dispenser as leverage House stood up gripping the journal tightly. Unlocking the door he stepped out of the bathroom stall. He glanced at Cuddy seeing the anger masked worry, and it pissed him off. Throwing away his journal, which he would later regret, he walked to the door shooting back, "I'll send someone for my stuff."

Cuddy momentarily stopped him, "That's it, you're quitting? You're choosing methadone over this job?"

The elder doctor could hear the waver in the administrator's voice, "I'm choosing lack of pain over this job."

Walking out the door, Gregory House made his way to his office to get his helmet and bike jacket. He had figured there was a sixty/forty percent chance that Cuddy would run after him, the forty was mostly for the shock value. Even if she let him leave the building it would only be a matter of days. As long as he played it like he was serious.

Entering his office without even trying to find his kids, blue eyes noticed that the bag he left in Wilson's car the previous night was sitting on his desk. Putting on his leather jacket followed by the backpack—he wasn't even concerned that Wilson might have searched his bag—House grabbed his helmet and made his way downstairs.

At the central desk in the main lobby House told the nurses he was clocking out. Nurse Brenda fumed, "Dr. Cuddy is looking for you."

"She found me, why do you think I'm leaving now?" he sneered at his worst enemy, "Mommy was mean, I'm running away."

House continued to walk out of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and out to his parking space. His bike was still there and the cover was in place, the air outside was warmer than last night, and the cover was not frozen. House hated contradicting weather, it was why he had taken his bike out of storage so early; since it had appeared that winter was ending early. Removing the cover gingerly he stuffed it into his backpack before mounting the bike.

'Now all I need,' thought House, 'is to get Cuddy to admit she was wrong and invite me back.' Putting on his helmet, he brushed his stubble when he clipped the helmet strap; he paused, a slow smile spread across his face. Turning on his bike House quickly made his way to the nearest connivance store/pharmacy.

When House returned to his own apartment and was safe inside, he dropped all of his things onto the sofa. Taking out the vicodin bottle he shook it a couple times before taking two. He vaguely registered that he had also done that before entering the connivance store, meaning his last six pills had been rather close together and his head gave a protesting spin.

Pushing his things to the floor and putting his plans on hold, House lay down and picked up the remote. House had decided on a Doctor Who and Torchwood crossover episode. He have figured when the episode was over he would conduct the next part of his plan. Half-way through the episode 'Mmm Bop' rang through his apartment distracting the doctor momentarily. The phone was on the floor with the rest of his things, besides he was technically off the case now. Turning his attention back to the television House was vaguely amused that his kids had kept their patient stable without discourse for so long.

By the time the episode was over, House was hungry. Deciding that it made more sense to shave in the morning, House sat up and went to the drawer that he kept the take out menus in. Deciding on the fried seafood place, House went over and found his cell phone, to place an order. The earlier call was from Kutner wondering if he was all right. With a sardonic smile he ordered his food and sat back down on his sofa.

House decided he was officially in the mood for British television. But the problem with the crossover episodes is that he couldn't decide between Torchwood and Doctor Who. House finally settled on watching a British comedy called Black Books. Opening up his box set he put the first disc in the DVD player and relaxed back into his sofa.

Eventually the food came, and House enjoyed his overly fried fish sandwich. Time flew by as the only distraction was changing the DVD disc. Finally his soon-to-be-nurse arrived. House answered the door and went back to his show. The girl bustled around him taking his vitals. He had her mark down how many vicodin he took that day. Taking his last two vicodin for the day House got up, got ready and went to bed.

The next morning dawned, House had gotten up a little latter than normal, there was more pain in his leg then the previous morning but his mood had risen slightly at the prospect of getting back at Cuddy. House took the vicodin from his nurse and made his way out to the living room.

Taking the paper bag and his pager from his backpack he brought them to the bathroom. He had only taken the pager out of habit, but soon regretted it, when it went off as soon as he put it down on the corner of the sink. He glanced at it; there was an actual patient issue this time. Angry that Cuddy had said nothing to his team, House powered off his pager and threw it angrily into the trash. Taking a deep breath he emptied the brown paper bag and prepared to shave.

After shaving his face, House took a shower, and for once debated the pros of installing handicapped bars in the shower. His leg did not take to the partial supporting role while he shaved. His shower was quick and refreshing. He entered the living room in a t-shirt and sweatpants; he found his up-and-coming nurse was still there.

House called up a delivery service and asked them to bring him a couple bagels and a coffee. With a half-annoyed sigh House ordered some for the woman sitting in his kitchen. While he was waiting for the food to arrive, House tried to decide what to do next in his plan. It would have to appear that he was actually serious about leaving Princeton-Plainsboro. He picked up his phone for a second, thinking about calling St. Sebastian's and requesting a meeting with their dean of medicine. He put the phone down when he realised that unless he got a letter of recommendation from Cuddy, his meeting at St. Sebastian's would not go over well.

Deciding that he would have to wait until he talked to Cuddy, House relaxed until the food arrived. Paying for the breakfast reluctantly he sat down with his nurse-in-training and listened to her prattle on. What he did learn after taking a couple more vicodin was that she really wanted to be a nurse.

After a very late breakfast House moved to his bedroom to get dressed. He had mentioned to his up-and-coming RN that he was going for job interviews and she wanted to see him dressed up, but she also needed to get home and go to sleep; so instead he brought out his two ties for her opinion.

House heard the knock from his bedroom as he was buttoning up his shirt. A minute later he heard his up-and-coming nurse answer the door. He recognised Wilson's voice more than the words and hastened to get ready. When House heard, "I'll be back around ten tonight." He realised that he left his two ties in the living room, threw on his matching suit jacket and walked down the hall towards the living room.

He made it to the end of the hall just in time to see a bewildered Wilson edge around his up-and-coming nurse. Wilson looked up uncertainly at House, "Who was she?"

"I hired her to watch me sleep... make sure I don't stop breathing," replied House nonchalantly.

"Home nurses usually wear scrubs," added Wilson thoughtfully.

House shrugged, "She's not a nurse." Which was true, she would become one soon.

Wilson looked scandalised, "You hired a hooker to watch you sleep? That just can't—"

The elder doctor walked into the living room more glancing around for his ties, "Surprisingly, hookers are cheaper. And they don't sue for sexual harassment." Finding his ties he turned to Wilson hold one in each hand, "Which one?"

"You shaved," James Wilson commented.

That was not what House was expecting to come from his friend's mouth. Glancing at his ties, the not-quite-nurse had chosen red, "The red one then."

The tie questions and comments finally caught up with Wilson he stared shocked at House as he began to put on his red tie, "You have two ties?"

House walked over to a mirror so he could see as he tied his tie, he lied, "Meeting at St. Sebastian's today. Gonna try and talk 'em into starting up a diagnostics department."

"Sounds great," said Wilson bewildered, "I just came by to check up on you. See how you were doing."

"I'm fine," said House as he carefully tied the tie.

Still in a state of shock Wilson murmured, "I guess you are."

House finished with his tie, made it snug to his neck, lastly he straightened his jacket and twirled to face his friend hiding the wince from his right leg, "What do you think?"

Wilson ignored the lazy 'I don't really care' tone of House's voice, "Fine, good luck I guess."

"You should probably get going, your lunch break should be over soon, and I have a proposal to write up.

Still in the shocked daze, Wilson agreed and made his way out of the apartment. House loosened his tie when the door closed deciding that he didn't want to see Cuddy immediately, let Wilson do some of his work for him. He looked around his apartment trying to decide what to do for a couple hours. He noticed that the breakfast things have been cleaned up, also his stuff that he had dropped on the floor the previous night had also been put away.

His up-and-coming nurse was really good; she took his demands and his demeanour properly. And he felt that he was a good test for anyone who wanted to become a nurse. He was both the difficult doctor and the difficult patient in this situation. With all of that decided he found his laptop buried half under a pile of papers sat down and began to write a recommendation letter.

When the letter was finished, he realised that it had to be printed at the hospital—since a printer cost money and the one at his work place was free. Getting up slowly House straightened his tie and jacket checked to make sure that he appeared presentable. Before leaving the sanctuary of his apartment the doctor took two vicodin and headed out the door.

Figuring that it would look more professional and thus more like he was trying House drove his car to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. To his pleasure his parking space was still there. With a satisfied grin on his face House made his way into the hospital. Avoiding the nurses' desks hoping to increase his chances of surprising Cuddy the ex-marine brat made his way to the administrative office off of the clinic.

House quietly entered the office and when brunet administrator looked up at him, he said, "I have an interview, in two hours."

Lisa Cuddy stands up shocked, "Wow."

"Hand over my letter of recommendation," House said holding back a snide comment, hoping that that sounded convincingly professional-esque.

Cuddy looked down at her desk and rifled through some papers, before walking over to House, "Sorry, I haven't done it yet."

Internally Gregory House smiled in triumph, outwardly he was angry, "You have no right to sabotage—"

"I was busy with this," She cut off his tirade and handed him the sheet of paper in her hand, "it's a list of requirements for your methadone treatment: weekly drug tests, supervised doses administered on a precise schedule, by me, or, one of the nurses."

There was another internal grin of satisfaction, "Seems weird, getting my meds here when I'm working somewhere else."

"Yes," agreed Cuddy before moving back to her desk, "I'm offering you your job back." She sat down and looked up at House expectantly; blue eyes even caught a hint of desperation and worry in the look.

"I want a raise," might as well try to get more out of the deal.

"No."

"And a bigger office... but in the same spot," added House as if he didn't hear her first objection.

Cuddy looked like she was getting annoyed by House again, "No. We both know this is where you belong."

"Okay," House shrugged it was what he wanted.

"Welcome back," Cuddy said with a smile.

Taking those words as a dismissal, House turned and headed for the office door. He was smiling in a way that said, 'I won.' When he realised that it was true, turning towards his boss, House sincerely said, "Thank you."

Cuddy looked at him with a silly-happy smile and slightly wide eyes of shock, "You're welcome."

House happily left the office and headed towards a secluded corner to 'cancel his interview.' The nephrologist took out his cell phone, scrolled through his contacts finding the one he wanted, he hit the send button.

The phone rang a couple time, until an accented voice answered, "What do you want House?"

"Hello John, the is Dr. Gregory House," House said into his cell phone a little louder then need be, he saw a the head of a nearby nurse turn in his direction.

"I know who you are," said the voice on the other end House could detect a sense of annoyance and amusement, he just hoped Chase wouldn't hang up on him too soon, "and my name is not John."

"I'm sorry John, but I am going to have to cancel our appointment this afternoon," replied the blue-eyed doctor.

"Look House, I don't really have the time to play your games, I'm busy."

Quieter then before House replied, "I know, look I was just cancelling my interview with St. Sebastian's, since Cuddy hired me back."

"The interview you never set up," realised Chase, then in a more amused tone, "What were her conditions or rehiring you?"

"You're so smart wombat, why did I ever let you go?"

"You fired me."

"Well, I don't want to be like Cuddy, so I guess you're still fired," replied House with an amused smile.

"What was Cuddy's condition?"

"Well, she isn't pregnant. She stopped trying that. But she did say that she would be monitoring my methadone doses."

"You've stopped right? I don't want you taking methadone from her," replied Chase.

A flash of anger passed through the elder doctor, before he thought about his situation a moment, "You know I don't like being ordered around, but since I ordered you to make me do what I want, and I will accept your word."

"Why Thank you House, I truly feel blessed," the tone was overly sarcastic, "I need to go, and there is nothing that you need to tell me medically? Are you using your cane? Do you feel you still need to use your cane?"

"Nope," House smiled hoping the answer would frustrate Chase, but then decided to add, "I do need to get a new cane though."

"Bye House," replied Chase.

The diagnostician said, "Goodbye John," before flipping his phone shut. Looking around the clinic, House decided that he should go and see how his team was doing, he vaguely realised that he would also have to take his text pager out of the trash.

House made his way over to the elevator and got on. A few of the doctors and nurses in the elevator with him looked at House as if he grew a second head. Ignoring all of the looks House got out of the elevator and started to walk towards his office.

His right leg gave a protesting twinge of pain and up ahead blue eyes could see movement in the glass office. House ducted quickly into the bathroom and looked around. After a moment when he was sure no one was in the room with him, House took out two vicodin and swallowed them. Capping the bottle, House put it back into his jacket pocket, before leaving the lavatory.

House entered the conference room and saw Taub sitting at the table, Kutner was just sitting down at the table with a cup of coffee. The Indian doctor looked up at House and asked, "You okay?"

"I have issues with authority. You?" replied House.

Chris Taub watched his boss for a moment, taking in his new appearance, "We thought you were gone."

"Cuddy missed me," answered House in a childish tone.

"And what happened to your cane?" asked Taub his tone cautious and disbelieving.

"She asked to borrow it for some reason," House said taking off his tie and stuffing it into his jacket pocket. After undoing the top button of his shirt he sighed in relief and asked, "Is our patient dead or do I need to do anything?"

"He's got scleroderma," answered Taub as everyone's attention was drawn to Foreman and Thirteen coming into the conference room out of breath.

"It's not scleroderma," said Thirteen sitting down in one of the chairs by the wall.

"Wow," said House sitting down and studying his fellows, "two days, and you've already got two separate theories."

"You're back," said Foreman his tone sounded shocked and disappointed, "good," he lied, before talking about the patient, "we noticed a drop in AST levels. It's not from the anti-inflammatory meds."

"It's because his kidneys got better from the testosterone," added Remy almost excitedly.

Foreman smiled, "Which rules out scleroderma."

House looked at two of his fellows, critically studying them, "When did you two come up with this?"

Foreman and Thirteen's eyes widen for a second. Thirteen shifty in her seat, "We ran into each other in the lobby."

House nodded, "So, what did we miss?" He glanced around, "When I say 'we' I mean 'you,' since I wasn't here."

"We've ruled out Zollinger-Ellison," said Thirteen.

"That was a dumb idea," House sneered.

Thirteen looked annoyed, "Why?"

"Because it was wrong," House smirked at his female fellow.

Taub added, "Also toxoplasmosis, dehydration, SLE, various intersex disorders."

House thought about the words for a moment then swore, "Oh, crap," he paused for a moment, "this kid like energy drinks?"

"I saw some empty bottles in the team locker room," shrugged Lawrence Kutner.

Chris Taub shook his head, "But energy drinks don't explain—"

"Nice work," House cut off the ex-plastic surgeon. He started to head for the door.

Foreman stopped him, "So, we're okay?"

"Why wouldn't we be?" House said looking at his duckling-turned-kid as if he were crazy then he looked at his other kids pausing on Remy Hadley, "nice heels." House continued out the door of the conference room. The elder doctor half-hoped, the patient was still in the room that House left him in, and not moved to another room.

House walked into his patients room and noticed to his luck both parents were there, "This is all your parents' fault."

The mother looked at House shocked, "Excuse me?"

Ignoring the women's anger he turned to the kid in the bed, "Chug a lot of energy drinks before, during, and after practice?" Blue eyes watched as the kid nodded, "Your son came in here with simple dehydration. That's why he collapsed during the game."

"The ER treated him for that. It didn't help the pain," Melanie said.

"That's where the energy drinks came in. They put a strain on his kidneys so he needed more time to rebound from the initial dehydration," said House with a hint of pride in his voice, waiting for husband to object.

Joseph asked, "Then why isn't he better?"

Not what House had expected but it still allowed him to reveal his genius, "That's where your idiocy came in. Before we could give him another glass of water, you two insisted I do an MRI. So, I go down a blind alley looking for a blind uterus. And my team injects him with contrast material. If his kidneys had been healthy, they would've filtered out the contrast in a couple hours. Since they weren't, it went around and around, eventually getting absorbed by his heart, his liver, and his pancreas; getting in trouble everywhere it went. Your son was fine when he got here. It was your freaked-out over protectiveness that nearly killed him."

"Nearly?" asked Melanie not particularly happy.

"He's young. A few weeks of dialysis, he should be fine," shrugs House he ignores the lovey-dovey scene between the parents, "you gave birth to a freak of nature," House paused to turn and open the door, "doesn't mean it's a good idea to treat him like one." With those final cutting, yet true words House left the room, he saw his kids out in the hall and told them the treatment that they needed to start. House waited until he saw Kutner head off down the hall, before he himself left the area to return to his office.

House sat down behind his desk, picked up his tennis ball threw it up and caught it a couple times before putting it back on his desk with a sigh. It only took him a minute to realise that he needed a plan. Glancing around House covertly took a couple more vicodin. Outside the sun was getting low in the sky as blue eyes scanned the glass office. To his relief in the corner by the door there was a metal hospital cane. House vaguely remembered that Wilson had told him that it would be good to have a spare cane on hand, since it wasn't like he used a cane responsibly. Getting up from the desk, House walked over to the corner and picked up the metal cane. Twirling it in his fingers a couple times, House took a couple experimental steps using the cane, and then a few more without. Making up his mind House walked the rest of the way back to his desk, leaning the cane against the wall, sitting down and relaxing.

After a few moment House remembered the recommendation letter he wrote for his to-be-nurse. Grabbing the file from the e-mail, he mailed himself. House read over the letter then printed three copies. House went to the printer picked up the letters, he was happy to see that someone had left Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital letter head paper in the tray. Going back to his desk House glanced over the letters signed them. He sealed each letter in a separate envelope before putting all three in a separate larger envelope. Putting the envelope in his jacket pocket House leaned back in his chair and thought.

Time passed House unnoticed he vaguely remembered hearing voices in the conference room and when there wasn't any noise taking a couple more vicodin. Bored with his ball and other larger trinkets on his desk, House opened the drawer in search of finding something to occupy his hands. There was the usual: pens, paper clips, rubber bands, sticky note. House smiled when he saw the pair of dice. Taking them out, he tossed them on the desk a few times. He distracted himself from his thoughts by asking yes or no questions and answering them with the dice—yes was even numbers, no was odd, mostly for the irony.

The distraction worked well for a little while but soon House was content to roll the dice in his hands and think. Cuddy broke House's concentration when she came into the room, "Starting tomorrow, you'll come to my office for your fix."

Blue eyes glanced to the cup of green liquid, "I'm done with the methadone. I screwed up."

"The kid's parents wanted that MRI," argued the dean of medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro.

"I knew he didn't need it," House said shaking his head, "I did it anyway. That's what got him sick."

Cuddy still tried to argue her case, "You just solved a case that no one else could solve."

House stood up, surprised that she wasn't letting the matter go, "I created a case. I played nice because, I was in a good mood because, I didn't hurt."

"You don't need your pain to be a good doctor," countered Lisa Cuddy.

"I'm not interested in good," replied House firmly staring at his boss.

She was getting angry now, "You're afraid to be happy."

"Why do you care if I'm happy?" equally as angry.

There was a pregnant pause where the two doctors starred at each other. House more annoyed, while Cuddy suddenly looked nervous, finally she said, "You're afraid of change. The one thing you have is your intellect. You think if that's compromised, you have nothing" trying to entice him she held up the cup, bringing it closer to him, "just take it."

Blue eyes looked at the cup, remembering the lack of pain in his leg, but coupled with the near death, it wasn't worth it, "No."

"Don't do this," Cuddy whispered.

House looked at his boss, she didn't know him, didn't know what he needed, or what he wanted, just what she wanted in him. He had manipulated her many a time, she was another enabler, although Wilson was the better enabler—between the two, "It's already done," taking the cup from her, he tips the methadone into the trashcan, before dropping the cup in as well. He reached over and grabbed the hospital cane that he had left against the wall. Looking at her he said solemnly, "this is the only me you get."

Walking out of his office—turning out the light—leaning heavily on his cane, House did not look back. He did not want to see his administrator at that moment. The little part inside of him that was serious, in his joking, about Lisa Cuddy was shunned away by the whole ordeal—how she handled the methadone situation.

House made his way downstairs and signed out at the front desk. The nurses gave his a hard time about checking in, in the morning, saying that it wasn't Dr. Cuddy's job to do it for him. Brenda even told him that he needed to ease up on Dr. Cuddy she had a hard job and she worked enough to not have to deal with House. Blue eyes glared at the nurses as he pointedly popped a couple vicodin and walked out the door.

On the way back to his apartment House tried not to think of anything. He was sure the Cuddy would inform Wilson about what he did. There was a chance that Wilson would not question his sanity sometime in the middle of the night, or if he was lucky the next morning. Taking into account that Wilson wasn't currently seeing anyone, it was more likely that he would show some leeway before coming to talk to him. Since in prior instances Wilson had used House's screw ups as an excuse, even unconsciously, to get away from his significant other.

Pulling up in front of his apartment building House was surprised to see a blond sitting in front of the door. Getting out of the car and walking around blue eyes looked down at the other doctor, "What are you doing here?"

"Could we go inside?" asked Chase standing up, while picking up a long parcel that had been lying on the ground next to him.

House moved forward opening the outside door and then unlocking his apartment door, "That isn't an answer."

"I have a few important things to talk to you about," replied the Australian closing the front door and waiting for House to enter his apartment.

Opening the door, House walked into his apartment and threw his jacket onto the sofa. After a seconds thought House sat down on the sofa and looked up expectantly at his ex-duckling.

Green eyes slowly took in the apartment, he had been there before, but it still felt like it was giving him some of House's secrets. The apartment really wasn't messy; probably because a stray magazine on the floor would be more dangerous for House. The most surprising thing that he found was a stray issue of 'Outdoor Fishing' House just didn't seem to be the fishing type.

"Well?" House snapped bring Chase back to the present. Looking over the apartment and then back at House nervously, "Seriously Chase? Close the door and sit down on the sofa."

Robert Chase barely nodded clutching at his parcel a bit tighter before he turned around and closed the door. Moving carefully around the coffee table, Chase sat on the sofa next to his former boss. After a moment Chase put the parcel on the coffee table. Green eyes met Blue, "So what happened with Cuddy?"

House shrugged, "Tried to force me to take something that was killing me... faster than usual. Why aren't you with Cameron?"

"I told her I was working late," murmured Chase.

"So you are not opposed to lying to your girlfriend, good," replied a smug House, he took out his vicodin and swallowed two.

Chase ignored the jibe, "It looks like you are running low."

Blue eyes looked at the three remaining pills, "I'll take two before bed, so I'll need more for tomorrow."

The Australian looked around and then cursed under his breath, "I'm sorry I left my bag at home and that is where I had you refill. Can you take just one in the morning and get to work? I'll leave the refill on your desk."

"I could," grumbled House.

"How is the pain? Is the vicodin working out all right?"

House nodded, "Its fine."

Reaching into and inside jacket pocket Chase pulled out an envelope that said overnight mail on it. House gave him a questioning look. Chase sighed, "When I was thinking about how to do what you asked of me, I realised that I might be doing things that were slightly illegal; especially since you told me not to tell you my plans, so there would be no informed consent. I called my old college roommate who ended up being a lawyer. I explained the situation and he wrote up a contract, we need to both sign this send it back to him to double check and then he'll notarise and seal the document for if at any time that I am brought to court for malpractice."

"You shouldn't have done that," said House angrily, "I won't bring you to court, and you should have told me before you got me mixed up with your British lawyers."

"I was more thinking of Cuddy when I thought about the malpractice. And Marc is Australian," replied Chase.

House held out his hand for the contract. Chase handed him a stack of papers, Blue eyes read the contract a couple times through before looking up to meet the green eyes of the blond doctor, "Well at least you learned to cover your own ass without jeopardising Me... or Wilson... or the hospital."

"So you'll sign it," Chase looked hopeful.

House studied his ex-fellow for a moment, "I've never signed a form saying I was willing to ignore illegal doings that may occur to my person. If this works out in my favour, perhaps I could get patient to sign a similar form, you know: 'I realise that my doctor is not intentionally stopping my living for any extended amount of time, and his test and procedures may be medically questionable. This includes an invasive brain biopsy while we are doing shots of tequila among anything else one can image; because my doctor cares and has best interest in hand.'"

Chase laughed, "You don't care about your patients."

"Well not on a personal level," replied House his tone suggesting that his reply was obvious, "on a mysterious medical alignment level, I care a lot."

"Just sign the papers, House, I do have people to see," Chase laughed again.

House shifted the things around on the coffee table until a pen rolled off the edge and onto the floor. Picking it up House signed all three copies before handing them back to the blond, "But you see Allison," House mocked, "everyday, unlike me."

"I don't know," replied Chase looking up at House while signing the papers, "I'm the only doctor you ever call to do surgeries for you."

"It's because you're a good wombat and I don't have to bribe or blackmail you to get what I want," replied House with a smirk.

Chase looked over the contract folded them back up and put them in the envelope before sealing it. He would mail it the next day. Chase sat back on the sofa for a minute looking over at House he then glanced down at the parcel on the coffee table before adapting a nervous look again, "I picked you up something... I saw it and thought you would like it."

The blond picked up the parcel and handed it to House. Blue eyes studied the younger doctor for a moment. Taking the parcel, it was long and thin wrapped in a long brown paper bag, and the end was taped shut. Ripping off the tape, House reached in and pulled out a cane. The cane was mostly orange there seemed to be some sort of design in black, grey and white. House looked up questioningly.

"It matches your bike, I found it just after Christmas, and compared it to your bike a few days ago. I thought I would wait until next Christmas just to see what you would do. But then you lost your cane," replied Chase quickly trying to explain.

House stood up using his new cane he walked down the hall and back. House nodded, "Hard to miss... good for rubbing it in Cuddy's face that I am back to the vicodin."

Just then there was a knock on the door, Chase's eyes gone wide in shock while House looked at the time. House opened the door and let his up-and-coming nurse inside.

The woman looked at Chase and then House with a slightly disturbed looked, "You're popular today, but if you were going to get a hooker you could of just called."

The room fell silent, House suddenly chuckled, "You heard Wilson this morning!" Blue eyes turned to study Chase, his eyes roaming over the blond's body in an almost lewd way.

"I should be going, it is getting late," said Chase glancing around to make sure that he still had everything he needed.

House looked at his up-and-coming RN, "This is Dr. Chase, my new doctor, not a prostitute. Chase this is my up-and-coming nurse that has been watching me sleep. This will probably be the last night she needs to come."

Chase quickly agreed and opened the door, turning back he said, "Good night House."

House watched the door close behind the blond and then turned to the other person in the room. The woman was giving him this look, House nodded, "Yes, he is very pretty. You should have seen him before he stopped shaving. Still pretty though."

Author's Note: So I actually (gently) closed the door on my right hand to see the pressure applied to my hand. If you are holding the door and closing it towards you then the finger that receives the most pressure is your ring finger. If you are holding the jamb of the door the most pressure is on your index finger. For those who do not know when you are quoting a poem in writing (without keeping the written form), as I do when Thirteen reads Jackson's poem you separate the stanzas with a slash (/) It may not be true for a person reading a poem in a story but I do my best. 


	3. 2,1: The Social Contract

Disclaimer: I don't own House MD it was created by David Shore and owned by FOX and NBC/Universal, and produced by Heel and Toe Films and Bad Hat Harry Productions. I also don't own and film, book, television show, monster truck, bread, or anything else that references a real world contraption (since usually I avoid it for this purpose). Most things mentioned under this clause I suggest that you as the reader check out. And special thanks to the lj group Clinc Duty, for putting in their hours and providing me with the word for word (not to mention proper spelling) of the House episodes I modify. So Welcome to the Wonderful World of Fanfiction.

Warning: This is Slash (/): which means relations of the male-kind. With some Friendship (+): they are friends they hang out and are supportive. More specifically House/Chase and Taub+Kutner

Author's Note: Explanatory AN is at the end. FYI my lovely beta has not returned to me the corrections for 2.2 yet so there might not be an update next Monday but since it is written and my beta doesn't disappear for a year. It should not be a horribly long wait.

Happy Reading!

Lifestyle

Chapter 2.1: The Social Contract

House walked through the halls of the hospital heading towards the diagnostics conference room. He leaned on his new orange cane and smiled. It had been a week since he had talked to Chase. Everything was working out pretty good. The average amount of vicodin that he took after three days was fourteen. To encourage House to stick to that amount for the time being at least every second day in the morning House would find a refill bottle on his desk or in his mailbox depending on if House was working. At first House thought to secret away the extras since on the second day he took the remaining pills in the morning and therefore should have had two extra pills at the end of the second bottle. But Chase was sneaky and only filled his prescription with 28 pills. It was kind of annoying but House could live with it; mostly because it was kind of nice to just find his vicodin filled when he ran out.

House was also particularly happy about the gift he received from Chase. The orange cane pissed off Cuddy to no end. The first day back Lisa Cuddy looked at the loud cane with a sort of sad internal loathing. Then someone must have complained and Cuddy took the cane and gave him one that was of dark brown.

He had protested that the cane had been a gift, not to mention against his rights as a disabled person. Of course Cuddy hadn't believed him, about the gift, at all and had called Wilson. When Wilson said that he had not given House anything and he would normally be surprised if someone, who wasn't him, risked giving House a present or that House actually used any present that he had been given. But before Cuddy could take away his new cane Wilson admitted to seeing the brown paper wrapping that had been left in the living room. Cuddy amended her rule, saying that he couldn't see patients with his orange cane. Due to some sort of professional decorum, a basic dress code for doctors similar to the lab coat. He was suppose to used the boring cane for clinic duty—if he remembered, like when he remembered the lab coat, or his tie.

Lastly House was in a good mood because in only a couple nights Low-Down-Blue-Meanie was going against the Incinerator. The Incinerator was a very popular monster truck, and House knew that Wilson had an affinity for Low-Down-Blue-Meanie so it promised to be exciting.

House entered the conference room to see everyone except for Taub, who was sitting; standing around the conference room table there seemed to be some sort of excitement in the room. Deciding he didn't want to know why everyone was so excited he turned to head into his office.

"Cameron brought this up from the ER," said Foreman holding out a blue patient folder.

House glanced at the file quickly briefly pausing in his step, "Doesn't look like a friendship bracelet." House threw his backpack onto the white chair in his office and turned to face his team. He was poised to turn and continue into the office if the patient was boring.

Kutner replied excitedly, "It's Phineas Gage, the most famous case study in medical history."

The elder doctor was surprised, obviously it wasn't the real Phineas Gage but version 2.0 would be just as interesting, "You're telling me this patient got a railroad spike drilled through his frontal lobe?" House stepped forward and took the file flipping it open.

"No. No trauma, but he does have frontal lobe disinhibition. Just like Gage," smiled Foreman. Hose closed the file, it appeared his team would give him all the answers; he loved it when he didn't need to read patient files.

Thirteen added, "Gage was a different person after the spike: argumentative, impulsive."

"Whereas our guy became a different person after Chardonnay," House had read that far.

"He was sober when they brought him in. There's also the nosebleed, the collapse," Taub said, House wondered if he ever got excited about a mystery.

House turned his attention to Foreman, "MRI show anything?"

The smile on Foreman's face grew, "Nothing."

"Good. What fun would that be?" House asked satisfied that they had a good case, "So the tumour's not in the cool neighbourhood. It's cool neighbourhood adjacent."

"A well-placed tumour in the nasal cavity eroding into the brain could do the damage," said Thirteen.

House thought over her words before nodding, he handed the file to Forman and said, "Go stick a scope up Phineas' nose. See what you find."

Blue eyes watched as his four kids left the room to test their patient. Taking out his bottle of vicodin he shook it a couple times and read the label. The bottle was dated back to when Amber was still around, he was actually sure that the bottle was new when Ridiculously Old Guy was still around. He looked at the pills even if the bottle was that old that did not give any hint to how old the pills were. House shook out a couple pills and turned them over in his hands a couple time. Shaking his head, House dry swallowed two of the pills. Putting the pills back into his pocket, the diagnostician decided to go looking for his friend.

The first place the doctor looked for his friend was in his office. House knocked and opened the door to find the room empty. He knew though, that Wilson tried to lock his office door if he was going to be gone for long periods of time. Looking around He found Wilson talking to some male nurse a little ways down the hall. Gregory used this as an opportunity to catch up with his friend.

House caught up to Wilson not long after he stopped talking to the male nurse, at least House thought he wouldn't have to worry about the next future ex-Mrs. Wilson, or at least he was pretty sure. Wilson hadn't dated any males since they met in Louisiana. He decided to think about that later, instead House said excitedly, "Wednesday night. Low-Down-Blue-Meanie versus the Incinerator."

"I can't," replied Wilson reading a file in his hand.

House was a bit shocked and confused, "Let me rephrase. Low-Down-Blue-Meanie—"

"I understand monster truck code. Do you understand 'can't'?" asked Wilson a bit annoyed.

"Not when it follows 'Low-Down-Blue-Meanie.' Is the world coming to an end Tuesday night? Otherwise, Wednesday—" They came to a stop at their floor's nurses' station.

Wilson sighed annoyed, putting his file down on the counter, "All right, it's not 'can't.' It's 'don't want to.' The fact is... I just don't like monster trucks."

The oncologist started to walk again and in House's shock he had to catch up, "Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"You've always liked monster trucks," insisted House.

"No, you've always liked them, I've tolerated them," answered Wilson stopping and turning towards his friend, "seriously, I can only watch so many hyped-up dune buggies crush so many motor homes without feeling the urge to go see La Boheme. And I hate opera too."

Blue eyes studied their friend, "What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding it. I'm saying it loud and proud. Death to monster trucks," Wilson said with a slightly raised voice, he also raised his fist as if to say 'fight the power.' He also noticed that Kutner was approaching before House did, so he could escaped House's inquiry soon.

"No nasal cancer. And no marriage either if our patient keeps saying everything that comes into his head without regard for the consequences," said Kutner when he reached the older doctors.

Wilson looked at House in a combination of amusement and anger, "You always led me to believe you were one of a kind."

"Luckily jerkiness is a temporary condition for this guy," added Kutner.

House countered Kutner's statement, "No, it's not. We may be able to fix his impulse to say his thoughts out loud, but he always gonna be the guy who thinks them."

"But he's also gonna be the guy who doesn't say them. If he spent his whole life constructing this nice guy persona, isn't that as much who he really is as anything else?" Wilson defended.

House sneered at his friend, "You would argue that. You're all persona."

"I agree with Wilson. This guy's a Harry Potter," Kutner said, both House and Wilson were silent. Kutner looked at the elder doctors to see their questioning looks, with a sigh he explained, "The sorting hat was going to put Harry in Slytherin based on his nature. He refused, so he ended up in Gryffindor, through choice."

Ignoring Kutner's metaphor, "There's damage somewhere in his brain. Go find it." House turned back talk to Wilson after he watched Kutner leave, only to see his friend walking away.

With an aggravated sigh House shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the bottle of vicodin

Blue eyes stared into the orange bottle at the remaining white pills for a pregnant moment. Popping the top House shook the bottle over his open hand. House watched as five pills fell into his hand. Blue eyes studied the pills for a moment; his leg seemed to have a pain twinge. House rolled the pills in his hand debating taking a couple more. Making his decision House returned three of the pills to the bottle and swallowed the remaining two pills. Returning the bottle to his pocket, House swung his orange cane in the air, before smiling.

The nephrologist knew just the way to bug Cuddy. House made his way to his office. In the corner by the door sat the boring dark brown cane, he switched his cane and made his way over to radiology. He was happy to see that he had beaten his team to the MRI. Going into the control centre, House picked up the phone and paged Cuddy.

Sitting down in the chair House used his cane to turn off the lights. The waiting wasn't even bad, he was filled with anticipation. He briefly spared a thought for Cuddy; he hoped she recognised the mocking he was aiming for by using the boring cane.

Another small part of House wondered if Cuddy actually liked him, since she always came when he paged her for a consult. The more logical part of his brain disagreed since he knew that he would not do any work until he got his consult and would continue to bother her until she came. So logically she only humoured him so that he would do work. After this time for a pointless consult he would have to change up the game. House was interrupted by Foreman and Thirteen rolling in their patient.

It appeared that Thirteen was trying to make sure that the patient understood the procedure. House vaguely wondered what happened to Kutner since he was the kid that House had told to do the MRI.

House ignored them until Nick said something interesting, "I don't mean to be abrasive. Especially since you're such a pleasure to image naked. Again, sorry."

"It's okay," replied Thirteen, House was happy to see that she was a lot less scandalised then Cameron would have been. But in the same note he would have liked to see what Cameron would have done. He briefly thought about paging her as well but decided he would have been caught too soon. House missed the reply by their patient and realised that Thirteen was beginning to sound like a broken record, perhaps she was annoyed. House perked up though when Cuddy walked in.

"House paged," said Cuddy annoyed.

"Whoa, I would do her in a minute with fudge and a cherry on top," said the patient excitedly, then more subdued, "would someone please explain to this woman? There's only so many apologies—"

Thirteen cut him off, turning towards Cuddy, "He has frontal lobe disinhibition."

"I've already embarrassed myself with one doctor," Nick began sounding apologetic, before his mouth got out of hand, "whom I am at this moment imagining... with you in a king-sized bed... with a mirror on the ceiling..." the patient trailed off before looking apologetic, "I am so, so sorry. But if I couldn't have both of you together, you would definitely be my first choice."

The hospital's administrator began to look around, "Where's House?"

Before House could be sad that his entertainment was over Nick continued, "It's like trying not to think of an elephant. Not that you're an elephant. Your breasts, in fact, are all homo sapiens—"

Forman began to lay the patient down forcefully, "House isn't here."

House smirked in the dark, and he thought Foreman knew him by now, Cuddy replied, looking around again, "Oh, he wouldn't have paged me if he couldn't watch and enjoy the—"

The elder doctor sighed that was his cue he uses his cane once more to turn the lights up cutting off Cuddy's rant. Lisa gives him a disgusted look before turning and heading for the door. House sat up hoping for a big finish. And Nick didn't disappoint, making Cuddy pause at the door, "Your tush is like the pistons in a Ferrari."

Cuddy gives Nick and House a disgusted and annoyed looked before leaving the room. House quickly got up to follow her not wanting his amusement to end. For Cuddy's angry retreat House was able to catch up with her easily outside of radiology, "You're welcome."

"That was for my benefit?" asked Cuddy appalled.

House replied, "You're 40 years old—"

"38."

"—The administrator of a hospital—"

"Dean of medicine."

"—People don't get personal with you," replied House pointedly, not letting Cuddy get another word in, "except for me, and you dismiss me as a jerk who's jerking you around," Cuddy pushed the button for the elevator, House quickly continued, "but that guy can only tell the truth. And he prefers your body to that of a smoking young hottie."

Disbelievingly Cuddy replied, "So that was your way of saying I look good today."

The diagnostician had found the situation very funny and thought that Cuddy would at least get part of the joke or now that he thought about it in truth it really was some twisted compliment, "You didn't get the slightest kick out of that?" Blue eyes watched as the elevator doors opened and Cuddy get on.

Before the door close Lisa Cuddy replied, "Don't be ridiculous, House."

After the elevator doors closed House pushed the call button for his own elevator. When the elevator came, House entered it with a smug smile. His afternoon had been amusing so far all that was left was to wait for the answer that Forman and Thirteen were getting.

House made it back to his office and took out his PSP sitting down at the conference room table he started a new game. He was barely through the first level when Taub and Kutner came into the room.

House looked up at the Indian doctor, "I thought I told you to do the MRI?"

Dark eyes fell on their boss, "I had clinic duty, Thirteen said she would do it."

The elder doctor nodded and continued his game. Taub sat down opposite of House and picked up a discarded newspaper. Kutner went over to the coffee pot and started to brew more of the dark drink. Eventually Kutner sat down with a mug of sweetened and creamed coffee. The ex-Marine brat thought that Lawrence Kutner didn't need any more sugar or caffeine, but House didn't say anything.

Not long afterwards House registered the entrance of Foreteen. Pausing his game House looked up at the couple expectantly. Thirteen answered his silent question, "His cingulate gyrus isn't lighting up."

"It is too close to the spinal cord to biopsy," added Foreman.

House nodded and looked around the room, Kutner said, "It could be neurosarcoidosis."

"That is what we thought," said Foreman looking at House he added, "we already started him on steroids."

Blue eyes narrowed in annoyance, "We won't know anything else for about twelve hours," looking at the clock, "and our patient will be asleep. Someone should do an EKG, CBC, all of that fun stuff, just to be sure it isn't in his heart or blood. Tell the nurses to be on the eye out for anything abnormal in any organ function, go home; there is nothing more we can do." House saved his game took a couple vicodin and stood up. Switching canes again House got ready to go home for a day.

Author's Note: Please Read and Review 


	4. 2,2: The Social Contract

Disclaimer: I don't own House MD it was created by David Shore and owned by FOX and NBC/Universal, and produced by Heel and Toe Films and Bad Hat Harry Productions. I also don't own and film, book, television show, monster truck, bread, or anything else that references a real world contraption (since usually I avoid it for this purpose). Most things mentioned under this clause I suggest that you as the reader check out. And special thanks to the lj group Clinc Duty, for putting in their hours and providing me with the word for word (not to mention proper spelling) of the House episodes I modify. So Welcome to the Wonderful World of Fanfiction.

Warning: This is Slash (/): which means relations of the male-kind. With some Friendship (+): they are friends they hang out and are supportive. More specifically House/Chase and Taub+Kutner

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long. I got a new beta and they corrected some stuff and (no joke) every time I went to correct it my computer shut down to update before I could finish! I don't know if I ever mentioned this but the style I'm experimenting with in this fic is 3rd person omniscient but each chapter follows a certain character around (mostly). The only focus characters are going to be House, Chase, Kutner, and Taub (there is a small chance of Wilson) So this chapter is Taub and does connect to the greater scheme of things (of House/Chase-iness) later in the fic.

Happy Reading!

Lifestyle

Chapter 2.2: The Social Contract

Taub had had a horrible night. His wife had been out late with some of her friends. All he could think about was their patient who could only speak the truth and said anything he thought. The comment about his nose had bothered him and when his wife came home she made no comment before going to bed.

On top of his vain worrying, that morning Wilson had approached him and asked him to lie to House only when Taub's boss mentioned racquet ball with the oncologist. The light haired male had given him a packet of paper that included the general racquet ball rules and details that Wilson would tell House: like how many times they had played etcetera. James Wilson had ended the request with an 'I owe you'. Thinking that it was a good idea to have a favour owed, Taub agreed.

Since Taub was on time and House liked to show up late, he had plenty of time to hide the information from House. When he made it to the conference room everyone was sitting around, Kutner had made coffee and they were all waiting for House.

Thirteen mentioned that the night shift nurses did not register any changes in the patient. It kind of left them at a standstill, since they couldn't definitely say that the steroids were or were not working. Taub sighed, picked up the paper, and began to read.

Time ticked by and House still did not appear. No one would begin to worry until he was a couple of hours late. Eventually Thirteen stood up and looked pointedly at Taub—they had clinic duty. The shorter doctor put down the newspaper and got up to follow the internist down to the clinic.

Trying not to think too much about depressing things like his wife or the comment about his appearance—he had been a plastic surgeon after all—Chris Taub threw himself into his clinic work. A little part of his brain was disgusted with the overly concerned mothers, adults with diaper rash, and STIs. He had never expected to find himself there, working in a hospital, doing little people work. With a large sigh Taub pushed down his disgust, smiled and greeted his next patient.

Just after noon there was a knock on the exam room door. The balding brunet turned away from the girl with a rash on her hands to see the Indian doctor poke his head in the door. "I need to speak to you after you're done with this patient."

With a nod, Taub watched the door close before turning back to the patient. "Have you switched laundry detergents, dish detergent, or touched anything new in a concentrated amount?"

The girl nodded. "I moved to a new apartment and I no longer have a dishwasher."

"I suggest that you switch detergent." Taub got up and riffled through the cupboard pulling out some free samples. "Rub this on the rash twice a day until it is gone. If it irritates you a lot you can take an anti-allergy."

Taub sent the girl on her way and finished putting notes in her file before leaving the exam room. Lawrence was waiting for him at the door and silently followed Chris until he returned the patient file to the clinic nurses.

"House wants us to wait for something to happen to our patient," said Kutner, breaking the silence.

Taub looked over at the younger doctor, "And you came down here, and waited for me, for that?"

Kutner shook his head. "No, I wanted to go get lunch and wondered if you would like to take a break and come with me?"

The elder just nodded and started walking out of the clinic. The two doctors made their way to the cafeteria and into the line. The quiet and lack of distraction allowed Taub to begin thinking about all his problems no matter how petty they were again, suddenly he asked, "Do you think my nose is too big?"

"Relax," Kutner replied, "he also implied my bedside manner was a little off. You don't agree with that, right?"

On the inside Taub smiled, feeling a bit better as he grabbed a plate of food. "No."

Not realising that it would offend more then he meant it to, Kutner added, "No one's ever mentioned your nose before? You're a plastic surgeon."

"They tell me it suits my face," replied Taub. It was true many people who cared about their own vanity had mentioned his nose and they did say it suited his face. The only people who had ever said anything truly negative about his nose before their patient were those people who had already had multiple reconstructive surgeries and were addicted to changing themselves. People that Taub had never took stock in their opinion, so it hurt when the average Joe who could only say exactly what he was thinking said that his nose was too big.

"It does," agreed the younger doctor, grabbing a bag of chips and putting it on his tray.

"Maybe—" Taub decided to voice some of his uncertainties. "Maybe that's just the social contract. You tell me I look great. I tell you you're a people person. How can you know the truth?"

Grabbing one last thing Kutner headed toward the cash register. "You could ask for the truth."

Taub rolled his eyes and looked at the bored looking cafeteria worker at the cash register. "What do you think of my nose? Please tell me the truth."

The woman looked more annoyed. "It's fine. It's a nose."

"Just proving a point," replied Taub curtly as he paid for his meal and waited for Kutner to do the same. The two doctors left the irate lunch lady and walked into the sitting area looking for a table.

The two doctors found a table closer to the centre of the main room. Sitting down Kutner looked at his friend while Taub tried to ignore the world in favour of his food. "You know I really never thought anything for or against your nose until Nick mentioned it. It really does suit your face. Look at it this way, one sick patient mentioned your nose. While the same sick patient insinuated that my bedside manner was bad and my boss' boss thinks I am so incompetent that I was assigned to babysit."

The balding brunet put down his fork and swallowed hard." No offence, but you set a patient on fire and another time you electrocuted yourself. I'm surprised that House didn't fire you then."

"I would like to point out it saved the patient," replied Kutner with a smile but it no longer reached his eyes. A bit more sober he added, "House hates boring, and I'm not boring. Besides he even said he liked how even after firing me I was still around."

The shorter doctor studied the younger man across the table. "I can see House saying that. Thank you by the way, I know you weren't just trying to make me feel better."

The Indian doctor smiled again beginning to dig into his own meal. The conversation turned away from the heavier subject, they occasionally discussed the patient trying to figure out if they were right or not. Kutner believed that the chances that they had picked the right diagnosis were slim. They had taken a gamble on the treatable ailment, since the area they were dealing with was so precarious.

They were almost finished with their meal when both of their pagers went off. Taub looked at his pager. "The patient's kidney."

Kutner nodded stood up and picking up his tray. The two doctors went to dump their trays. Kutner grabbed his un-opened bag of chips before the two left the cafeteria. The two doctors made their way up to the conference room. When they got there, everyone was sitting around the conference room table except for Foreman. Taub and Kutner sat down and waited. By the time that Foreman entered the conference room Taub had stood up to get some of the coffee Kutner brewed in the morning. Still worried he noticed his reflection in the spoon.

House stood up and looked out of the conference room as Foreman sat down. "He's on dialysis and he's stable."

"We know it's not systemic sclerosis," added Remy Hadley.

House was only half-listening to his fellows talk because they were only stating the obvious. Blue eyes scanned the room and landed on Taub looking at himself in a spoon. A flash of annoyed anger filled him as the words that Wilson said at lunch filled his head once more. "Hey, Cyrano de Berkowitz. Let it go."

The shorter doctor blushed slightly before stirring his coffee turning around and sitting down at the glass table. "Chronic lymphocytic leukemia could explain brain and kidney problems."

"The CBC showed normal white blood cells," said Eric Foreman, looking down at the more recent test results.

House walked closer toward the table looking at Taub. He was no longer interested in the case for the moment. Focusing on the ex-plastic surgeon. "So how long have you been playing racquetball with Wilson?"

"Four or five times," Taub replied. He hoped it sounded nonchalant; the words were the exact same that Wilson told him to say. It would sound believable, annoy House that he hadn't seen it sooner, and made it sound like playing racquetball with Wilson was nothing to write home about. "Could be diabetes."

"Or a congenital metabolic disorder," added Kutner.

Taub glanced over at the younger doctor and disagreed, "Congenital disorders generally don't wait till you're 46 to manifest."

Kutner continued to argue his point, "So he's a late bloomer. His daughter has a neurological condition."

House was getting annoyed since neither idea was a good one. Changing the subject he said, "First of all-" House paused to swing his cane like he was playing tennis or most other racquet sports. "Wilson played tennis on his college team, and... you are a Jew. You're not athletic. Run to the end of the hall and back. I'll time you." House knew that it was not a sound argument especially since Wilson himself was Jewish, which is why he followed it up with a jibe to the shorter man's athleticism.

"Sandy Koufax is Jewish. Greatest left-handed pitcher of all time," said Taub, aggravated.

House sneered. At least he didn't flat out repute his argument or bring up Wilson, so House could still play the Jew card. "Sandy Koufax is all you Jews go on about. Sandy Koufax, and the holocaust." House sat down at the end of the table close to Taub, and mocked, "gets old."

"There are dozens of congenital conditions that fit our parameters," said Foreman trying to drag the conversation back to the patient. "We can't spend time gene testing for all of 'em, especially when we're only guessing it's congenital."

House ignored him, congenital conditions was not a very good idea. "Is a z-shot offensive or defensive?"

Wilson had a sheet of racquetball moves, Taub had only glanced over them and now he was cursing that. He remembered the z-shot, but not many others, he quickly replied, "It's both."

"You suspected that was a trick question," accused House.

"But I could have said neither," Taub argued before turning to Foreman and disputing his vote on congenital conditions. "Diabetes makes more sense."

House thought a moment; he could use Taub's insistence on diabetes against him. Foremen's stupid insistence on a passing suggestion of Kutner's could keep him and Thirteen busy while he had Kutner testing what he wanted. None of the three tests would hurt the patient and yet they would be doing something while House was really biding time for something else. The more he thought about it he realised that there was a slim chance—less than ten percent—that their patient had either a congenital condition or diabetes, which fit better into his plan. Decided, he said, "We can narrow the testing down to 40 likely candidates. Test for peripheral nerve damage."

Before House could continue, Thirteen cut in, "He's got brain damage. He's likely to have peripheral nerve damage no matter what the cause."

Blue eyes glared at the female doctor. "Yes, that's why we should not test _him_ for it. Test the daughter. Kutner runs the nerve test. Taub, you may be right about the diabetes. Take supper away from our patient and run a glucose tolerance test. Oh, and the nurses have been working so hard. You can do the blood draws yourself."

"They have to be done every couple hours. You're punishing me because you're jealous that I'm spending time with your best friend," accused Taub. House was surprised usually the punishee knew better then to call House on his behaviour.

"That would be petty," House sneered. "I'm punishing you because now you've joined my best friend in lying to me. Let me know when you're ready to confess everything."

There was a note of finality in House's voice so the kids all got up to do as they were told. Taub slunk out of the room slower than the rest; he even picked up the newspaper so that he could read it while he was watching. Halfway to the patient's room Taub realised that it was just after lunch and he would have to wait an additional eight to fourteen hours to start the blood draws. Taub cursed, thinking that House had done that on purpose so he would be stuck at the hospital until late into the next night. Pulling out his cell phone he ducked into an alcove and called his wife to say that he would have to stay at the hospital overnight.

Walking into the room Kutner was already there explaining why they wanted to test the daughter for peripheral nerve damage. Taub ignored them and went directly to the patient's bed, picking up the patient file to read. The first thing he did was write a note saying that the patient should not get dinner and would need the glucose solution to drink.

When Kutner had left with the wife and daughter in tow, Taub looked at their Phineas Gage. "We are going to run a glucose tolerance test, to see if you are diabetic."

"Can that happen? Can I just become diabetic like this?" asked Nick.

Taub nodded. "It is one of those things that can happen at any time and it isn't very hard to test for. You fast for eight to fourteen hours, although you are allowed to drink water in that time. Afterwards you'll drink a glucose solution and we will draw your blood every couple of hours and test it to see how your body processes the glucose. Now when was the last time you ate?"

"Well if you're counting what I had for breakfast, I stopped breathing right before lunch so I never got that," replied Nick. A slow grin found its way onto Taubs face, he was in luck. Nick balked. "Now you're happy that I didn't get lunch."

Taking a step back Taub shook his head. "I didn't mean it like that, as long as you haven't had any snacks or liquids besides water I can test your blood now and if everything is all right I can give you the glucose solution in about an hour."

Nick looked surprised. "That makes sense. No, I haven't had anything."

"Do you know when you finished breakfast, or at least when you got breakfast?" asked Taub as he looked down at the chart - it was marked that he received breakfast just before eight that morning. But after the nurse left he may not have eaten anything until later.

"It was a bagel and some scrambled eggs. The eggs were dry so I only ate the bagel. I don't know when I stopped eating, but it didn't take long to eat what I had," he replied.

Taub estimated a good time for Nick to drink the solution, added a side note for him to be paged when the patient was given the solution. Taub put down the chart and looked at Nick. "I am going to go get a blood drawing basket and be back in a minute to take your blood." Taub turned and left the room.

The ex-plastic surgeon went and got one of the baskets set up for blood draws. After getting his sample, Taub went to test the blood. He was saddened to find that he would have to wait longer to start the glucose tolerance test then what he had marked on Nick's chart. Moving back to the patient's room he told Nick the bad news before changing the time on the chart. Chris went to the nearest break room to get a couple hour nap before he had to start the blood draws.

A few hours later Taub woke up to the sound of his pager and sleepily made his way to the patient's room. Taub became very aware when he heard Nick being very vocal about his opinion on the taste of the glucose solution, which Taub mostly ignored. When he felt more awake he took a sample of Nick's blood after he was done drinking the first batch of glucose solution. Chris Taub left Nick with the nurse to be watched so that he could test the blood.

When Taub returned for the second test it was a couple hours later, which was a long time after the hospital served patients supper, and it was even later than the average American ate supper; so it did not surprise Taub when Nick said, "I'm starving."

Pushing the tube in, Nick's blood began to fill the tube. "It's the only way we can do the test."

"Good thing it's you and not Dr. Hadley. Could you keep her away from me? I have a rich imaginative life. I'd rather not share it," replied Nick with a silly smile.

"We all have thoughts," replied Taub taking out the tube of blood and looking at it.

Nick watched as Taub put the blood in the basket. "I know we all have sexual thoughts. We have ignoble thoughts. I just don't want those to be who I am to people, especially not to my wife."

"I understand. I don't think it would be fair to define me by my passing thoughts." Taub nodded as he carefully took out the needle and pressed a cotton ball to the arm.

"My real choices are my actions. And I've never done anything to hurt her. I've never cheated," said Nick definitively as he watched as Dr. Taub walk around the bed to check the machines he was hooked up to. He saw a defensive twitch in the shorter doctor. "You're kidding me. You've cheated?"!

"What? No. Why would you say that?" Taub said, startled that the patient had figured out that he cheated on his wife.

Nick stared at the doctor forlornly. "Because you look guilty as hell."

Taub was even more shocked at the second comment. "Are you serious? Of course you're serious."

"Yes, everyone knows. God, they must think you're a creep," said Nick watching Taub. Chris just couldn't take anymore it was way too late and he was tired. He walked out of the room only to hear Nick yell after him, "They might not know... they might be idiots. I just say these things."

Taub quickly made his way back to the empty diagnostics conference room. When he entered the room he could smell the rich aroma of coffee in the pot. Walking over to the counter, he saw a fresh pot of coffee and a note, "Thought you could use this." The note wasn't signed but only Kutner would do something like that, and he was pretty sure that Kutner was the only one who remembered that the pot came with a timer function.

Pouring a cup of coffee and deciding to drink it black, so that the strong taste would aid in keeping him awake, Taub sat at the table and pulled out—now—yesterday's newspaper. When he was finished the cup of coffee, he went and ran the blood in the lab.

The rest of the night was pretty uneventful, every time that Taub went in to do the blood draws he had to wake Nick and either deal with an apologetic look or complaints. Taub finished off his second pot of coffee and decided that he would make another the next blood draw so that there would be coffee when everyone else came in. About a half an hour before he was due to take the next set of blood, he got a page from House.

As he walked down to the morgue, Taub was trying to figure out why House was early to work and in the morgue. Too tired to think about it, he entered the morgue and asked, "Why'd you page me here?"

"I need you to update me on the patient's condition," said House tossing up a ball and catching it a few times.

Taub looked over at the dead body he was standing next to. "Seems to be dead. Why'd you page me here?"

"I need you to update me on the patient's condition," House said sitting a little straighter and holding out the ball he had been tossing, "while hitting this against the wall," House tossed the ball to Taub, watching him catch it, and then pointed to the racquet behind Taub, "this is the only place we can do both."

"I finished the last blood draw," said Taub trying to avoid playing House's game and getting out of further testing, because by this point he knew more blood draws would be pointless.

"I expect the people who work for me to rise to a challenge. Unless they don't expect to work for me," House said overriding Taub's avoidance.

The shorter doctor sighed and picked up the racquet, looking at the ball and the racquet in his hand he tried to recall anything that Wilson had given him, or even high school gym class, but he was too tired. Eventually he just tried to focus on his current task and bounced the ball before hitting it against the wall of body freezers. He kept his eye on the ball and after a few hits he became confident that he could also talk to House. "Last blood draw was at 6:00 AM. Sugar levels never rose above 120 all night."

The multitasking did not work out for Taub as the ball hit the wall between two freezers and made it fall off to the side to get tangled in the legs of the table that had the corpse. House ignored the fumble. "So the glucose was normal. Means you were wrong about diabetes."

Taub had recovered bouncing the ball with more confidence and hitting it again. "I still think it's the endocrine system. Maybe I just got the wrong gland."

"So you're going for thyroid instead pancreas? Makes sense," said House as he watched the back and forth between Taub and the wall. Suddenly Taub hit an overhand strike too hard; blue eyes watched as the ball flew back over the other doctor's head crashing into the shelves of chemicals.

Taub looked shocked at the damage he caused and then over to a pleased looking House, he was too tired to continue. "Fine. I'm not playing racquetball with Wilson. I was never playing racquetball with Wilson." He paused, aggravated, "I thought it would be helpful if a Department Head owed me a favour. But it's not worth this."

House nodded. "Not bad. You put on a good show. You studied up. Wilson actually booked a court. If you were really a racquetball player, you'd know that you were holding a squash racket." there was a hint of superiority in the comment. House got off the table that he was sitting on. "Tell Kutner to do a thyroid reuptake scan, I'll go grab a nap in one of the on-call rooms."

The shorter doctor watched as House left, wishing that he could also grab a nap. Looking around the morgue Taub tiredly called Kutner and relayed House's message. When he hung up the phone he began to clean up the broken glass and mop up the chemicals. He realised that he had done a shoddy job but at the moment he didn't care. When he was finished he made his way to an on-call room. No one else from the team had come into work yet so nothing could go wrong for at least an hour.

Chris Taub was woken once more by the sound of his pager. Rolling out of bed he picked up his text pager and with a tired, angry groan he stood up and walked out of the maternity on call rooms and headed down to diagnostics. The ex-cosmetic surgeon was surprised to see that he wasn't the last person to make it to the glass conference room. When he noticed that House wasn't there yet he made a beeline for the coffee and poured himself a cup mixing in some cream and sugar. The shorter doctor sat down with his coffee and waited.

When House entered the conference room Kutner told everyone the news on the patient, "His temperature is 103."

"Infection," replied Taub. It was one of those automated response when someone mentioned a temperature that was high. It was the automated response that Taub usually tried to suppress when around House but he was too tired to care.

Thirteen agreed, "The steroids must have forced it into the open."

"What kind of infection?" asked Foreman. "It could be anything; Staph aureus, tuberculosis, strongyloides—"

House cut the neurologist off, "Go back to Phineas, get a history."

"We've got a history. He hasn't been out of the country," replied Kutner.

"Get a detailed history," House stressed.

Kutner continued to rattle off facts from the detailed history he had gotten from their patient earlier, "No one at home is sick. No one at work is sick. There's no sign of ticks or mosquitoes."

"Get a more detailed history. Ask him again. And again until he remembers something," House replied and watched Taub. The shorter doctor sighed, realising that this was just House's newest torture for him. Taub took one last sip of his coffee and got up to get the 'more detailed history,' House's voice halted the tired doctor's footfalls. "Not you. Kutner can do it. You're gonna be busy with something else."

Kutner got up, slightly annoyed, and left the room, knowing that House was really just biding time until they could catch something. Taub hesitantly sat back down by the table, picking up his cup of coffee, while Forman and Thirteen tried to slyly watch House and go unnoticed. After a moment House glared at them. "What are you two still doing here? Don't you have clinic hours to do?" Both Thirteen and Forman got up and headed for the door. "And if you don't, do mine."

Taub sat at the table alone with House for a few moments he watched the other doctor while sipping his coffee, not willing to ask House what his punishment was going to be. The elder doctor studied his fellow, going over his plan in his head a few times. The plan was far from flawless, but no matter what, it was amusing, "I want you to go back to Wilson, invite him to lunch."

"So you want me to actually spend time with your friend?" asked Taub, shocked, before he drained the rest of the coffee in the mug.

"Find out what he is really doing tonight," amended House.

Taub considered refusing for a moment, but he knew that what House wanted, House got. With a sigh he shrugged off his lab coat that was a bit wrinkled from sleep and glanced at his watch to see that it truly was near the lunch hour. Getting up, Taub put his coffee mug in the sink and walked out of the conference room, leaving a smug House.

Taub knocked on the door of the head oncologist's office and waited for an affirmative before sticking his head in. "I'm here to invite you to lunch."

Wilson looked up from the papers on his desk and studied the other doctor. "Uh, why?"

Deciding it was best to have the coming conversation behind closed doors; Taub stepped into the office, closed the door and looked at Wilson. "I've been made. House sent me back to you as a double agent."

The oncologist sighed, dropping his head into his hands. "I should have known, this is House after all."

"He had me stay all night and do blood draws, so could we please just go to lunch before he decides I deserve more torture?" asked the tired doctor.

Dark hazel eyes shot up and looked at the doctor standing in his office. He knew the words to be true, it was just like House. With another sigh he replied, "I'm sorry Taub, I'm really busy, I was planning on going to the vending machine soon."

The two doctors looked at each other, debating what they could do. "I can't go back empty handed."

James Wilson nodded, looking down at the desk and then back at Taub. "How about you print some of my e-mails for him? When it turns up nothing then House will have to let it go."

"That will probably work," nodded Taub as he watched Wilson pull out his laptop and logged on. "I doubt that House will let it go."

The department head nodded as he got up from his desk. "You should probably pick and choose a bit so it isn't so obvious; I'm going to go find my lunch."

Taub watched the department head leave before scooting around the desk and looking at the computer screen. It was opened to the PPTH mail browser for Dr. James Wilson's inbox. Quickly Taub clicked the deleted folder and scanned through noticing one email confirming Wednesday at seven. Quickly he opened the file and printed it. He tried to open the patient file but it was password protected. Sighing in defeat, he scanned through the rest of the deleted folder and upon finding nothing of interest he returned to the Inbox, printing a couple random e-mails from Cuddy and other people who had the last name of 'Wilson'. When he was finished he glanced around for an empty manila folder. Making sure the e-mail from the deleted folder was on the bottom of the stack with about a dozen other emails on top of it, Taub got up, folder in hand, and went over to the sofa and relaxed against it, waiting for Wilson.

When the other doctor returned Taub looked at the couple bags of snack food and the soda. "What took you so long to get that?" trying to make it sound like he would've had no problem printing off e-mails in front of Wilson.

The lighter haired doctor shrugged, "The machine on our floor only had gummy bears." Putting down the food he held out his hand for the folder in Taub's hand.

Handing over the folder, Taub watched relieved as Wilson stopped flipping through the e-mails when he reached the ones from Cuddy. Wilson didn't care about House reading his conversations with Cuddy or his family. His family had little problem with House surprisingly. He almost wanted to remove the e-mail where his mom mentioned Danny. But he thought better then to raise Taub's suspicions. With one last glance at his mom's e-mail, Wilson returned the folder to the shorter doctor with a nod.

"Thanks," said Taub taking the folder and heading to the door. Before opening the door Taub switched the bottom e-mail and put it on top of the pile, under the guise of neatening the folder. Opening the door Taub stepped out not surprised to find that House was waiting for him.

With an unspoken agreement the two headed back towards the diagnostics department. Taub said, "I told Wilson you sent me to get information."

"And now you're telling me. What does that make you, a quadruple agent?" asked House as they entered his office.

"He let me print out his e-mails," added Taub.

"Wow. Excellent," House replied, not very impressed. "Information he wants us to have. Did he let you print out his deleted e-mails?"

"No," admitted Taub.

House turned towards his fellow, a bit annoyed. "Then go back there—"

Taub cut him off smugly. "As long as I was sitting there, I thought I'd print 'em anyway," Taub handed over the folder of e-mails. "Top one's the one you're looking for."

Blue eyes took in the e-mail on top, murmuring, "Writing to confirm Wednesday at 7:00 PM."

Taub watched as House sat down at his desk and started typing on his computer. Taub decided to tell House what else he had derived from the e-mail and what he knew of NY Mercy. "It's outgoing to . There's a Joan Gonzalez in oncology. It's a consult." Taub was hoping that a consult would be enough to get House to let it go.

"Secret consult, 7:00 PM." House went to the NY Mercy website and was happy to find that they were one of those hospitals that included pictures with their doctor bios. "Oh, Joan is perky."

"You're wrong," said Taub shaking his head. "There was a patient file attached."

While googling the female oncologist; House held out his hand to Taub expecting him to hand over a file. "Where?"

"It was password-protected," replied Taub.

"No," House stopped his search and turned to look at his fellow. "Wilson doesn't password-protect his patient files. I'm the only one he'd expect ever to look there, and he knows there's only one patient I'd want to check on."

"You think Wilson's sick?" asked Taub, now concerned.

House turned back to the computer screen and amended his search. "If Wilson had cancer, there'd be no reason for him to drive three hours to Manhattan. He could pull strings here and get the best treatment." He paused to read the search results. "Six articles by Gonzalez. 'Managing suicidal thoughts in oncology patients,' 'Suicidal ideation in children with leukemia.'"

There was a pregnant pause. Finally Taub gave House a careful look. "I don't want to ask this, but have you ever had reason to think he might be depressed?"

"No, get out of here," replied House glaring at his fellow. Blue eyes watched the other doctor leave, thinking about the other research he could do.

Taub left House's office debating on whether to go take a nap before clock out time or to do his clinic hours. Finally deciding that to increase his chances in having a good night's sleep he would go do his clinic duty.

When it was finally clock out time he made his way up to the locker room that diagnostics used. When the shorter doctor got to his locker, Kutner was standing near his own locker. He had this nervous-happy expression as if he had been waiting for Taub. Chris looked at the younger doctor and sighed. "Thanks for the coffee last night."

"No problem." Kutner shrugged.

There was a long silence as the two doctors prepared to go home. Finally Taub asked, "What do you think of House and Wilson?"

"They have an interesting friendship," replied Kutner, who looked over at his friend. Seeing the look on Taub's face, "You mean, together? I don't know. There was a rumour back when we all still had numbers about how House use to sexually harass everyone female or male, especially Chase. But then he fired Chase and had a fight with Wilson and stopped sexually harassing guys. I remember some nurse asking me who and how he harassed his potential fellows."

Taub thought about the words for a moment, turning them over in his head. "I suppose you're right, we do get racially harassed more than sexually harassed."

"You mean Foreman and I get racially harassed, Thirteen gets harassed about her sexuality, Cuddy is sexually harassed, so did Chase but he is hot, and you get harassed about your sexual promiscuity. I think it's just House's way," replied Lawrence ticking off on his fingers the harassment that he could remember.

"Do you think that I am a creep for cheating?" asked Taub, remembering his earlier worry. Then he remembered something else Kutner said. "You think Chase is hot?"

Kutner blushed, looked at Taub, and asked, "Which one do you want me to answer first? As long as you promise you won't tell anyone."

Taub rolled his eyes. "Who would I tell? Chase first." He wanted a distraction.

"I'm bi," replied Kutner with a shrug.

Taub studied his friend. He looked truthful, but things didn't add up. "But you acted the same as the rest of us when Thirteen came out."

"Being bi is precarious," replied Kutner, "A bi girl is every non-gay guy's fantasy but there's the chance that they will eventually feel inadequate, or like their girlfriend is cheating on them with other girls. A bi-guy never fits in. Gay guys say you're in denial. If you have a girlfriend that knows that you're bi, they might be disturbed by where your... body parts have been. Like, we've never heard of safe sex before... I had a friend in college that slept around with guys and dated girls. I just don't like being judged on that basis. So yes Chase is hot, but no I wouldn't date him."

"Because he's married?" asked Taub.

Kutner sighed. So they were back to the topic of cheating. Usually people's first question to a response like his would be something along the lines of, 'because he's straight?' After thinking how best to answer, Kutner sat down on the bench and looked back over at Taub. "Partially, but mostly because if he was inclined my way I think we would be the same type."

Taub really didn't get what the Indian doctor was saying, so he ignored it and asked, "Well, what about me?"

"You are definitely my type," replied Kutner with a grin. Taub's eyes went wide and the caramel skinned doctor burst out laughing. When he had calmed down and made sure that Taub had taken no offence, he added, "Cheating happens. It happens when people least expect it, it happens every day. It doesn't mean that you love your wife any less. It's just one of those things. It's not like you got up one morning and said, 'today is the day I cheat on my wife.' Yes it probably wasn't the best choice ever, but attraction cannot be turned off once there is a wedding band on your finger. Historically it wasn't a big deal. And if we were to believe the rumours about House and Wilson; all of Wilson's wives left him for sleeping with House, House regularly cheats on Wilson with hookers, and when we get to Amber—her and House shared Wilson. No one is perfect, but that doesn't make you a creep, at least not to me."

"Thanks," murmured Taub, looking into his locker, realising that he didn't need anything else and that he had just been standing there listening to the other doctor half-ramble.

Kutner closed his locker. "Why did you ask about House and Wilson anyway?"

Taub waved it off. "It was just about Wilson avoiding House tonight. House generally looked worried."

"You can worry for a friend," replied Kutner, heading to the door. He stopped before leaving the locker room and asked, "Are we okay?"

Chris Taub looked at the younger doctor. "Yes, of course."

Author's Note: Please Read and Review 


	5. 2,3: The Social Contract

Disclaimer: I don't own House MD it was created by David Shore and owned by FOX and NBC/Universal, and produced by Heel and Toe Films and Bad Hat Harry Productions. I also don't own and film, book, television show, monster truck, bread, or anything else that references a real world contraption (since usually I avoid it for this purpose). Most things mentioned under this clause I suggest that you as the reader check out. And special thanks to the lj group Clinc Duty, for putting in their hours and providing me with the word for word (not to mention proper spelling) of the House episodes I modify. So Welcome to the Wonderful World of Fanfiction.

Warning: This is Slash (/): which means relations of the male-kind. With some Friendship (+): they are friends they hang out and are supportive. More specifically House/Chase and Taub+Kutner

Author's Note: I figure that the TV people weren't expecting a fan to dissect the episode. Based off of the way House worded things I am assuming the episode started on a Monday and since Taub does hint that he had to stay through the night that takes us to Wednesday. So I am saying that Wilson had to reschedule to see his brother to Thursday since House asked Chase when Chase was leaving (on Wednesday). I hope this makes sense _ Zack (Fair) is a character in the Final Fantasy VII-verse. The game I am referring to in Crisis Core – Final Fantasy VII (which I don't own, but praise Square Enix and the Japanese for).

Happy Reading!

Lifestyle

Chapter 2.3: The Social Contract

There was a reason House never talked to patients, or even liked patients. A part of him was telling him to turn around and refuse this patient like he should have done with the he-she's parents. But a larger part was rejoicing this was his kind of patient "better or dead." It meant he got to coerce Chase into a dangerous surgery for his amusement and if the patient died he had been given informed consent! But at the same time this is a surgery that House would never ask a patient to do. But those words, those words had hit to close to home. House stepped into the locker room that Chase used near the ICU, even if lately he had been spending more of his time in the operating room than in the intensive care unit.

Entering the room, House smiled. Chase was at his locker about to go home. House waited for when the blond doctor noticed him. Finally Chase closed his locker and jumped a bit. The elder doctor ignored the reaction and handed over the patient file. "I want you to remove a small problem."

Chase looked at House for moment before taking the file and flipping it open. Green eyes scanned the file. Chase looked up shaking his head as he leaned against the wall. "I'm not a neurosurgeon."

"But your boss is. You could assist. I'm sure you'd like to add to your résumé," House wheedled.

Chase shook his head again. "It's too near the brain stem. Nobody's gonna touch it."

House knew this and knew that Chase was for once not the doctor to ask for this. But in the same time going through Chase was the best way to get to Chase's boss, mostly because his blackmail material wasn't up to par for this request; it needed a different type of finesse. "Your boss would. He's an egomaniac. I know 'cause I keep seeing him at the club. He just needs a little push. I'm sure by now you've kissed his ass sufficiently." At least he got a laugh out of the younger doctor. Blue eyes watched as the Australian placed his things on the counter, picked up his coffee, and looked at him in the mirror. House decided to add, at the quizzical look, "Would you like me to phrase it as 'you're politically gifted'? I can do that."

"You want me to help you?" asked Chase as he turned to face House; leaning against the counter. "Tell me why."

"Why what?" House avoided.

"Why you care." Chase threw up his arms for emphasis. "The puzzle's solved. The guy's alive. And the odds of coming out of this surgery with that same status aren't that great."

House shrugged. "My patient has a quality of life issue."

"He says awful things, hardly a medical condition," countered Chase.

The elder doctor internally winced—he had hoped that it wouldn't have come this far. Blue eyes studied the linoleum as he admitted, "When, he leaves here, he's going to lose his family. He's gonna alienate the people he works with. And if he ever finds a friend who's willing to put up with his crap, he'll be lucky. Until he drives them away too."

Blue eyes glanced quickly up at Chase. In the pregnant silence, Chase cursed internally. He needed to talk to both Wilson and House. Externally he nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

House nodded slightly to the other doctor. He didn't want to lead Chase into thinking that he wanted to discuss his feelings, so he turned and left the locker room. With a sigh and a couple of Vicodin, House headed home. Deciding that he wasn't hungry at all upon arriving to his apartment, he swallowed two more Vicodin. Even though he hadn't exceeded fourteen Vicodin in the day, he had taken too much in too little time. His head would soon spin in a drug-induced haze and he would sleep until morning.

He really didn't want to be thinking or worrying about anything at that moment. Half getting ready for bed before the Vicodin kicked in, House stumbled into his room and quickly fell asleep as soon as he hit the mattress.

The next morning House took his remaining two Vicodin and got ready for work. He was not in a good mood as he made his way to his office and if anyone was around to see they would notice that his mood improved tenfold upon seeing a small orange bottle that sat upon a folded note.

Immediately House put the Vicodin in his pocket and picked up the note. He read it to himself and his smile grew. "I booked OR3 for you at 13:00."

Looking around, House realised that his fellows were actually in the conference room. Picking up the copy of the signed consent form, House walked into the conference room. Everyone looked at him in a bored manner. "So how is our patient?"

Eight eyes looked at House in confusion. Foreman answered, "He's being discharged."

"That's odd," replied House with a sick taunting smile, "because it seems that OR3 is booked for a surgery to remove a portion of the cingulate gyrus, for our Phineas."

The team looked at their boss in varying degrees of shock and disbelief. Foreman argued, "You can't do that surgery! It's too close to the brain stem! You could kill him!"

"Wrong! All I need is informed consent and a surgeon," replied House. He watched as his kids all tried to protest at once but were stopped when House put down the copy of the signed consent form.

"So he signed," replied Thirteen. "There is no way a surgeon would touch this case."

House looked at each of his three new kids with a mocking pitying look. "Now kids, I'm going to teach you a very good lesson. When you grow big and strong and leave daddy you will do one of three things: first, you could leave home and when that fails move into daddy's basement. Second, you could try to ignore me but still come home bearing gifts in hopes that I would approve. And lastly you could enter the real world, and when daddy brings you business, you gratefully take it."

Everyone looked at House as if he was crazy (-er than usual). Foreman seemed to be barely controlling his anger. "Chase isn't a brain surgeon."

"But he will have the experience when he has finished his one o'clock surgery today," replied House with a bored look. House took out his PSP. "Now go make sure our patient is ready for surgery. Zack and I have some work to do."

The four other doctors left the conference room, leaving House to his video game. For the rest of the morning House ignored everything around him except for his role-playing video game, only pausing to take a couple of Vicodin.

As the lunch hour approached, House decided to take a quick break before preparing to watch the surgery. Saving his game, House put the PSP in his pocket, popped a couple of Vicodin, and with the help of his bright orange cane, stood up. In the doorway, leaning against the jamb, was Chase.

Blue eyes studied the other doctor for a moment. "Good! You're buying my lunch."

Chase walked over to the conference table and sat down. Bringing his messenger bag to his lap he pulled out a couple of food items. "Rueben no pickles, root beer, pretzels and a Milky Way."

Gregory House looked quizzically at his ex-duckling, noticing that the blond had shaved that morning; it appeared to be a morning that Cameron had either not spent the night or had not given her opinion on his dress, since it was a bit haphazard. If his hair were lighter then he would look more like he had a few years prior. House glanced down at the lunch Chase brought him and sat down across from him at the table. "Why didn't you get me a Snickers bar? And why did you suddenly shave?"

"Peanuts, pretzels, and popcorn are the most common bar foods and you rarely find more than one so I got pretzels and a Milky Way," replied Chase with a shrug.

House waited a moment for Chase to continue and answer his second question but the blond didn't. House reached over to slide the food Chase got him in front of him as he watched the other doctor arrange his own lunch. "Interesting, I never think of food like that though. So did Cameron make you shave?"

To House's amusement, a slight blush painted the younger doctor's face. "Allison actually doesn't like it."

"Then why did you do it?" snapped House.

"I'm not like you House, I don't just not shave. It is just that my mornings have been busy recently. But this morning Allison went into work early and my first surgery today is at one so I had extra time."

House just nodded and the two doctors began to eat their lunch. After awhile House asked, "So what is with the private lunch, and free food?"

"I have a couple things I want to discuss with you," said the Australian after a hesitant moment.

The hesitation made House wary; he glared. "Like what?"

"Well Foreman seems to think that I need to stop doing surgeries that are dangerous for you," replied Chase. "Supposedly I'm your favourite, what did you say?"

House shrugged. "They didn't believe that I could find a surgeon. I just told the kids that they should still be useful after their fellowship, like you being my personal surgeon."

"And you insulted Foreman in the process," nodded Chase." And I'm not your personal surgeon. It's just that doing the surgeries on your patients furthers my career faster than with any other doctor."

With a mocking nod, House commented, "So you bought me a Rueben just because Foreman is mad at me... I feel like I am missing a lot of Rueben's from over the years."

Chase laughed, took a couple of sips from his drink, and then sobered. "I wanted to talk about Wilson." House glared and put more effort into eating his food. "I'm not trying to change you or anything like that. I just want you to listen."

The blond doctor waited a moment until he saw the barely there nod from the diagnostician. "I know you care about Wilson. He's your friend and I'm sure that he knows you care. But friends are allowed to have secrets, as much as it may worry you. I have secrets from Allison, Allison keeps secrets from me; it's just the way things are. I talked to Wilson this morning. He wouldn't give me any details, but he said that the reason that that e-mail had been deleted is because his appointment got moved to Thursday, and he wished you would have left him in peace, since it was such a personal matter. If you were anyone else I would tell you to apologise to Wilson. Since you're House, my advice is to be there for him, and if it ever happens that you need him; he will be there for you."

The elder doctor looked up at his ex-duckling. Finishing the rest of his meal he said, "You need to go scrub in."

Green eyes watched the ex-marine brat for a moment. He saw the other doctor take out his Vicodin and take two. "In a moment, how are you doing? Are fourteen Vicodin a day enough?"

"Some days I think about taking more, but then I think on that third day coming to work without any just so I could get the refill," replied House honestly.

"Are you hoarding any?" asked Chase.

The nephrologist hesitated. "No." The _not yet_ was left unsaid.

The intensivist shrugged. "Return the empty bottles to me; you should have four unless you threw them away already."

"I can do that," said House, watching the other doctor.

Chase stood up from the table and cleaned up from their lunch. "I need to scrub in."

Blue eyes watched as the other doctor left the glass conference room. House leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes for a moment. He thought about the day and Chase's words. He found it amusing. At first, he had three ducklings, even if one looked strangely wombat-like. One got annoyed and quit; one had actually grown enough and was fired, and the third in spite (and in a very sheep-like manner) quit as well. Then he got kids. He snorted in amusement, thinking that as kids they could either be baby goats or adolescent humans. So what he had now was; a duckling not quite grown who grew into a kid, a wombat, a sheep who felt so self-important since a bell was put around its neck, and three kids. 'Perhaps,' House thought, 'I should call Darwin with this new evolutionary miracle.'

Getting up from the chair with the help of his bright orange cane House made his way down to operating room three' observation room. He snarled in disgust when he noticed Dr. Cameron lurking around outside the door to the observation area.

"I had a lunch date with Robert," said Cameron out of nowhere.

"And I care..." trailed off House.

"He ate with you," said the bottle-blond.

House shook his head. "He is assisting with the surgery of my patient, which I am now late to watch."

Cameron frowned. "He bought you lunch."

"And he knows, like you obviously know," House sneered, "that to get me to listen to your drivel, I need a bribe like lunch, or to hold something I want, like access to that door."

The female doctor glared, "Well, what did he want?"

"Ask him, it's not like it was for sex. I have a score of hookers and Wilson for that," House mocked, "now let me view the dangerous surgery being performed on my patient."

She glared at House as she stepped aside. House stepped into the observation room, closing the door on Allison Cameron's face. House walked over to the far side of the room, which happened to be right over the table that Phineas was laying on. Sitting down, House leaned his cane against the wall and waited. Cameron hadn't held him up too much since the doctors were just settling down to open up the patient.

A few hours into the surgery the door opened. House half ignored it until Wilson sat down next to him. Eventually House glanced over and noticed his friend's state of dress. "You've apparently got this whole coat thing backwards."

"I may have overreacted," said Wilson.

"You definitely overreacted," agreed House.

Wilson sighed, a bit annoyed. "I knew you'd meet me halfway."

House focused his eyes on the surgery. "It made me think. You only snap on one subject: losing people. So I went back to the intel. It's true that there's only one doctor named Gonzalez at New York Mercy, but there's a Javier Gonzalez who's a nurse in the psych ward. And who could you lose who'd end up there?"

"Maybe the reason I don't always open up to you is because it's redundant," Wilson half-snapped.

"Daniel Wilson," House looked over at his friend, "once you've got a name, it's amazing how much stuff you can learn on the phone. I mean, if you're a doctor and you lie freely." House gave Wilson a look hoping for a smile, before continuing, "They found your brother sleeping in the lobby of an office building in Manhattan. Got aggressive when they asked him to leave, and the cops took him to the Mercy psych ward."

"There have been new anti-psychotics developed since he ran away. He's been on them for a couple of days and by tonight, he should be in shape to talk to me," murmured Wilson.

"But you're not sure if he wants to," stated House quietly.

Wilson shrugged. "I'll be in New York in a few hours, and I guess I'll find out."

"Why wouldn't you tell me this?" asked House.

The oncologist sighed. "House, you and I… we don't have the normal social contract. I don't expect you to tell me the lies—"

"I am fully capable of lying to you. I've lied plenty of times," the elder doctor cut his friend off.

"I mean collaborative lies. Giving someone a hand who maybe needs to deceive themselves, just a little," explained Wilson. Getting up from the chair, he looked at House. "For two days I've been thinking about how Danny's gonna react when he sees me. If I said that to anybody else, they'd say, 'don't worry, it'll all be all right.' You wouldn't."

House realised that his friend wasn't saying that his literal way was bad and replied how he normally would, "Because it might all go horribly wrong."

With a chuckle, Wilson said before he turned to leave, "Yeah. Yeah, it might."

Greg leaned his head back to look at his retreating friend. "In which case, you might want some company."

Wilson turned around at the door and walked back towards House in disbelief. "Yes, yes I would House."

The nephrologist grabbed his cane and used it to stand up. "Let me get my jacket, I'll meet you downstairs." With one last glance down at the ongoing surgery House followed his friend out of the door. At the elevators, they separated. House quickly went to his office and grabbed his jacket. For once he did not want to irritate or ruin the plans of his friend.

As he approached the nurses' desk Cuddy cut him off. "You can't just leave; your patient is in a very dangerous surgery."

"I know why my patient is sick, unless this doesn't fix him, at which point he is no longer my patient," snapped House.

"You shouldn't be bothering Wilson, House," said Cuddy as she watched House sign himself out.

House looked up at her. "Do you know what's wrong?"

"Just that it is very personal," answered Cuddy.

"Personal enough to want a friend there?" asked the nephrologist.

Cuddy opened her mouth to reply when she was interrupted, "House." Both the hospital administrator and the doctor in question looked up at the door. Wilson was leaning into the hospital from the front door; he jerked his head towards the outside. Cuddy's mouth dropped and House smirked at her before walking toward the door that his friend was holding open. House limped out to Wilson's old car that was parked out front. He got in the passengers and waited for Wilson to get in and drive.

They were quiet for a while before Wilson started to discuss inconsequential things. House realised that he didn't want to discuss the impending visit. A part of the elder doctor wanted to ask him about the monster trucks but when he thought about what Chase said coupled with the way Wilson was acting he realised that it would not be a good thing to bring up. And even if no one realised or mentioned his effort he wanted to make one, because no matter what people said he did care about his friend—on some level.

"So how have you been?" asked Wilson as if that was what all their insignificant conversation was leading to.

House changed the radio station once the old one fizzled out, "Fine, and you?"

"As well as can be expected, and I meant with the methadone," replied Wilson.

"It was my decision."

Wilson glanced over. "I know and I think you did the best for you. With taking the methadone—" House looked over with a disbelieving look, "—after I thought about it for a while, and I thought you made the right choice to stop taking it."

"So why are you asking, if you agree with me?" asked House. He didn't sound angry or snappy, just generally curious.

"Well you haven't asked for a Vicodin script yet."

House shifted in his seat and as if remembering, took out the bottle and shook out a couple of pills. Wilson watched him as closely as possible. "I had some left over from before."

James Wilson glanced at House, then the road and then at House again. "That looks like regular Vicodin. How many are you taking a day? Did you run out of Vicodin HP?"

"After the methadone, I've only been taking Vicodin," admitted House with a shrug.

"But how many have you been taking a day? Because it might be better for you to switch back to the high powered Vicodin?"

"Jimmy," House said to make sure he really had his friend's attention. "Don't worry about it. I take about fourteen Vicodin a day. Before the methadone I was taking ten Vicodin HP a day. That is thirty less mg a day than before. I am doing better. And I don't want you to think about it." He really didn't want to tell his friend all of this. He had hoped that Wilson would forget that he was the one who wrote his scripts before the methadone fiasco. He really didn't know why he still didn't want to tell his friend - he just wanted to do it his way.

The oncologist nodded. "Well, I'm glad that you are doing all right."

The conversation after that drifted away from the heavier subjects of Vicodin, monster trucks and Wilson's brother. They pulled into the parking lot for New York Mercy early for their appointment.

Wilson slowly parked the car and got out. He hesitated for a bit. House just gave him a look and started to make his way inside. James smiled. This was House's way of encouragement, since it forced Wilson to follow his friend inside. With the new motivation, the oncologist began to walk inside the hospital.

Following the signs they slowly made their way to the psych ward of NY Mercy. They came to a security/nurses station and Wilson signed them in. They were then led into a secure waiting room. House went over and sat down in the stiff vinyl chairs and waited for Wilson to check them in again.

"We're early," said Wilson, finally joining House. "They say we are going to have to wait until at least our appointment time. But they are going to tell his doctors that we are here."

"Well isn't that nice of them," House sneered, "Just like this waiting room. You'd think that people would already be pretty depressed if they had to come here, that they would want to brighten up the waiting room."

Wilson shot House a look showing that he wasn't amused by House's wit at this point in time. Picking up a random magazine he flipped it open and started to read the first article in the magazine that pertained to another celebrity scandal. Wilson didn't care about what was so horrible in a celebrity's life, but at least it was an attempt at a distraction.

House was a little bit more selective in his reading material. He rifled through the stacks of back issue magazines until he found an Anthro-zoology centric magazine that had an article about the advances of AIDS testing and treatment in other primate test subjects.

The article just regurgitated all of the already known facts about the primates that were carriers of the AIDS virus. It also was hard to concentrate on the article when Wilson continued to tap his foot and fidget. With a sigh House threw the magazine aside and looked around the room. Spotting a coffee pot House stood up and took a step towards the coffee. He paused and looked down at his friend. "Coffee?"

Dark hazel eyes looked up into blue, a bit surprised. "Sure House, Thanks."

The diagnostician nodded and made his way over to the coffee pot. He frowned at the setup, seeing that there were only packets of artificial sweetener and there was a limited supply of little cups of half and half. Picking up a flimsy cup he poured out some of the dark brew. It smelled like good refreshing coffee and at the same time weak. If there was ever a time for Kutner's extra strong coffee, now was it. His cell phone began to play the cheery one hit wonder and House absently flipped it open to read the text from Taub: they were doing a full body scan. He closed the phone, deciding that that did not dignify a response, and put the phone back in his pocket. House poured the second cup and dressed both cups before carefully making it back over to where Wilson was sitting.

House held out the cup of coffee for Wilson, and when his friend took it House sat down across from the other man. Blue eyes studied their friend for a moment. He decided that it was time to stop tiptoeing around the issue, they were there, and it was time. "You told me you saw your brother once, after he disappeared."

Wilson looked up, a bit surprised and yet relieved. "Thirteen years ago. I used to go to Princeton whenever I could. I must have hit every homeless shelter in town. And then one day, I'm just sitting at this deli, having a sandwich, I look out the window, and there he is. He was gone by the time I got outside."

"That's why you were so eager when I told you there was a job at Princeton. I thought it was just my charm," replied House, trying to lighten the mood.

It didn't seem to work—Wilson wasn't feeling lighter. The still of the room was interrupted by MmmBop by Hanson. "That's the team. Shouldn't you answer?"

House glanced down at his pocket and then back up at his friend. "They already texted me to say they're doing something stupid." That at least got a smile out of Wilson, who was now reaching down to pick up his gossip magazine. House riffled through the magazines again. He came across one that's feature article was cancer in domestic dogs he picked it up and held it out to Wilson. "This will be more entertaining."

James silently took the magazine and smiled at his friend in thanks. House continued to look for something he could also read. There were no other magazines that had any medical relevance. House also looked for extreme sports, motorcycles, and porn, he finally settled on one that discussed the blue penguins of Australia. Both men read through their article and then the remainder of their magazines. When they were both finished House wanted to read about cancer in dogs and took Wilson's magazine, replacing it with his own. When Wilson was finished reading through the second magazine he got up to get more coffee. House was ignoring him so he didn't offer to get him anymore of the horrible coffee.

The oncologist didn't sit back down instead he drained a couple cups of coffee and began to pace. Looking at the time it was just after seven and therefore he could be called in to see his brother at any time.

The pacing began to bother House and since he had also finished his reading material he got up to get his own cup of coffee. Half way to the table along the wall House's cell phone went off. Dark hazel eyes gave him a look, so House sat on the arm of a chair and took his cell phone out.

He read the message once, twice and smirked. "The spell-check on Kutner's phone has got a hair trigger. Either that or the patient has a 'cyclone in the floral of his lungs.'" House closed his phone and looked at his friend. "You took a walk in 45-degree weather, and you left your coat behind."

Wilson paused in his pacing and looked at his friend, knowing that he was working out a puzzle. "Go ahead."

"I think you were punishing yourself. I think you wanted to feel what it would be like be homeless in a New Jersey winter. That tells me, guilt. That tells me, something happened," concluded House."

The younger doctor looked into blue eyes and spilled his guts."The schizophrenia started when he was a teenager. When he was in college… He was on meds, but he'd still think a professor was out to get him because he got a B, or he'd fight with his roommates because he never showered."

"Where were you?" asked House.

"Med school," replied Wilson, annoyed at the memory. "He called me every day... talked for hours. I didn't have hours."

House murmured, "Interesting. Later for that. Go on."

"I was tired of being the guy that everybody counted on, so one night, Danny called—one night Danny called, crying, upset about something. I had to study for an exam. So I—I hung up… took my things. I went to the library so I wouldn't have to hear the phone ring," continued Wilson.

"I wonder how that turned out?" said House, already knowing the answer. He phrased it like a question since he realised that his friend needed to say these things.

"My mother called me the next day;" Wilson said sadly, "Danny had run away and left his meds behind. Which I knew meant that he would never be able to choose to come back, because he'd be so detached from reality."

Blue eyes studied his friend and realised that this was the event that enabled his enabler. "So you made your one effort to live a normal, selfish life, and the universe immediately smacked you down. And because we're wired to find meaning in semi-random events, you decided never to be that careless again."

Wilson looked at House, surprised. "You don't think that's a little facile?"

"Actually, I don't. I think you did it consciously," said House as he stood up and faced his friend. "You developed your people-pleasing talents the way an Olympic athlete develops his muscles. Talk about an overreaction to a single event."

"It was a pretty big event!" But even as he said it he realised that it wasn't really true.

"Hanging up the phone? That's what you're blaming all this on. That's the behaviour you've been trying to correct. As though nothing else went wrong in your brother's life. Of course, he overreacted too but…" House trailed off trying to remember the details of his patient, "His glucose was normal?" and it was.

House pulled out his cell phone and moved over to the window as he flipped through his contacts he vaguely registered that his friend was talking to him but his brain was miles away. "It's House. ADMs don't explain his glucose."

The conversation went quickly, with House revealing to his team that their patient had Doege-Potter syndrome. When he hung up the phone he turned to look at his friend and noticed that he was no longer there.

He glanced around the room and concluded that Wilson went in to see his brother. Making another cup of coffee House walked back over to the chair he had been sitting in. House sat down, laying his cane in another chair, and his coffee on the end table covered in periodicals.

Reaching into his pocket Gregory pulled out his bottle of Vicodin and shook a couple into his hand. He tossed his head back but before he dropped the Vicodin in he paused. Righting his head he looked at the pills in his hand. With his thumb he flipped the pills the pills over and inspected them. Glancing around the room he took the nearly full bottle of Vicodin and dumped it out onto the end table.

Blue eyes scanned every pill. Noting that some were laying with the 'VICODIN' imprinted side up, some were laying with the up side with the line through the centre to make the pill easier to cut in half, and some were on their sides. House methodically went through each pill lining them up with the imprinted side showing. He counted the pills and counted how many he took in the day to make sure that Chase hadn't shorted him any more pills. He checked each pill for the identical Vicodin stamp and then flipped all the pills over to see if the line was on the reverse side. When he was satisfied with that portion of the pill he began to stack them to see if they were all uniform in size. To House's frustration the pills only stacked, if he was lucky, three high. So once he was satisfied with one stack he would take the top pill and start a new pile. Once he had finished his inspection and was sure that they were all Vicodin, he took two and leaned back in the chair staring at the organised white pills.

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	6. 2,4: The Social Contract

Disclaimer: I don't own House MD it was created by David Shore and owned by FOX and NBC/Universal, and produced by Heel and Toe Films and Bad Hat Harry Productions. I also don't own and film, book, television show, monster truck, bread, or anything else that references a real world contraption (since usually I avoid it for this purpose). Most things mentioned under this clause I suggest that you as the reader check out. And special thanks to the lj group Clinc Duty, for putting in their hours and providing me with the word for word (not to mention proper spelling) of the House episodes I modify. So Welcome to the Wonderful World of Fanfiction.

Warning: This is Slash (/): which means relations of the male-kind. With some Friendship (+): they are friends they hang out and are supportive. More specifically House/Chase and Taub+Kutner

Author's Note: So I have run out of beta-ed chapters so it might be a few weeks until another update. It seems that some people do not understand the term Marine Brat. So I will clarify (to the best of my knowledge) a **Marine Brat** or Army, Navy, Air Force (etc.) Brat refers to a child of a person(s) in a branch of the armed forces that lives with their parents on a base. I have already promised that I would limit the use of this term in new chapters that I write (but since I have 12 post total written before I began to post it may be a bit).

Happy Reading!

Lifestyle

Chapter 2.4: The Social Contract

House woke up in the late morning; it was so late that he might as well call it early afternoon. Taking a couple of Vicodin, he got out of bed and made his way into his living room with his orange cane. The bottle of Vicodin had reminded him of his worries the previous evening. Picking up his cell phone, House dialled the nurses' station that was on the operating room floor. He quickly asked for Chase's schedule, acting as if he was trying to figure out when to book him for a surgery. Chase was having a busy day but he was free for a couple of hours at one, so he could get a quick lunch and have time to read about his next procedure.

Quickly, House texted the blond doctor as he walked down the hall towards the bathroom. He asked to meet the Australian at a nearby restaurant for breakfast at one. Tossing his phone on the sink, House stripped and got ready for the day.

It was sunny outside and a good portion of the snow had melted, which was good because House drove his car to work the previous day and Wilson had dropped him off at his apartment when they had driven back. Grabbing his leather jacket and his helmet, House was happy to be able to clip his matching cane to his bike as he drove to the nearby IHOP.

The Hostess smiled at him, daylight hours were a bit slow for the restaurant since two in the morning seemed to be the best time for pancakes. "Just one today?" she asked.

"Two, I don't know if he got here first - blond with an accent?" replied House.

The Hostess smiled and picked up two menus, "Nope, but I'll keep my eye out..." She was about to say something else but noticed House's cane and shut her mouth. Glancing down at the seating chart she looked up and added, "Right this way."

She led him to a table by the window set for two. She put down the menus and told him the name of his waiter. House ignored her and flipped open the menu, glancing through the lunch specials. A few minutes later a young man came over to take House's drink order. He ordered two cups of coffee. He sat back to wait for Chase to arrive.

It didn't take long for the blond to come in and sit across from House. He flipped open the menu before looking up at his ex-boss. "So why are we eating breakfast at one o'clock this far from the hospital? And since when are you my boyfriend?"

House looked up at the last question studying Chase, and asked in disbelief, "Cameron?"

"You don't want to see Allison, so we're eating here?" asked Chase, now confused.

"I haven't gone to work yet and this is the closest place to my apartment that I can get breakfast." House shrugged. "Who said I was your boyfriend? Cameron?"

Chase looked scandalised. "No, the hostess. Why would _my_ girlfriend say that I'm _your_ boyfriend?"

The waiter came by and put down the two cups of coffee with a little tray with the fixings. Chase murmured his appreciation and then said that he wasn't ready as he focused on House, awaiting his answer. "Cameron got all possessive of you when you brought me lunch and ate with me."

House mixed in some cream and sugar to his coffee before waving over their waiter. He placed his order and then they waited for Chase to make a decision. When they had both ordered and the waiter had left them to their own devices they leaned back and sipped their coffee.

When the food arrived Chase asked, "So why did you invite me to lunch?"

"I'm becoming paranoid," replied House, taking a bite of his lunch. "I spent a good portion of my time last night in a waiting room inspecting my Vicodin."

"You were in a waiting room?" replied Chase. "Are you all right?"

"Can we not focus on where I was? That isn't important. What is important is that I keep thinking that you replaced my Vicodin."

Chase swallowed what was in his mouth, put down his fork and took a sip of coffee. "Don't worry about it."

"How can I not worry?" asked House, "You really haven't done anything yet."

Green eyes looked into blue and held the stare. "Look House, you can't say that, I have a plan and I'm going to implement it. It hasn't even been two weeks yet. You also have to remember that you didn't want to know exactly what I was going to do. If you think about it you can see what I've done."

The nephrologist looked at the other doctor and thought while he ate. Chase was right. His Vicodin had to be Vicodin because his pain was where it should be. And Chase had done things: made sure he survived the methadone, regimented his Vicodin, and made sure he wasn't without the medications. And even if it would be harder for him to take more Vicodin, he could always take less on those good days. So Chase was helping him.

They finished their meal and House pointedly looked at Chase when the check came. On their way out the hostess gave them a big smile. In the parking lot House stopped at his bike but called to Chase before he could get too far. "Follow me to my apartment and then give me a ride to the Hospital. I left my car there."

Chase nodded his assent to his former boss and followed the orange bike out of the parking lot. House pulled his bike up next to the front step of 221. The diagnostician limped into his apartment, leaving his cane with the bike. He dropped off the helmet and the bike keys before picking up his backpack and heading back outside. Grabbing his orange cane from the bike he leaned on it heavily and got into the blond's car. Once he was settled House took a couple Vicodin.

The Australian dropped off his ex-boss by the front doors before driving to his own parking spot. House made his way in, quickly signed in and made his way to the elevator bank. He was cut off by a busty brunet. "Where have you been House? It's two in the afternoon."

House paused and looked at Cuddy. "Two o'clock, you say? Two in the afternoon? Well I guess my watch must have stopped, sorry."

"Where were you this morning?" asked Lisa Cuddy.

"I got home late," House shrugged and then changed his tone to a sappy concerned tone. "You see my best friend had a personal emergency and I went with him for moral support."

Cuddy glared at the older doctor. "And Wilson made it into work on time."

"And my patient," House emphasized, "will be discharged today at five, and since I didn't get a page then he is still being discharged and I wasn't needed."

"Well, you're on clinic duty until it's time to clock out," said Cuddy as she began to push House towards the clinic. They passed Chase on his way to the elevators; blue eyes followed the blond doctor.

House almost tripped since he was watching Chase and not where he was being pushed. "Hey watch it, cripple here."

"Well if you stopped staring at the nurses then you wouldn't have tripped," snapped Cuddy.

The nephrologist smirked. "Who said anything about nurses? Dr. Chase is looking great today."

The brunet administrator paused in her step for a moment, while House continued to walk. He felt better when he wasn't being pushed. Cuddy set House up in the clinic and gave the nurses specific instructions to not let him leave until he could clock out (as if he had been at work since the morning). She also took his bag, jacket and orange cane saying that she would put them in his office. House settled in exam room one for the next few hours, only interrupted when a nurse handed him his dark brown cane.

At the shift change (when House would normally go home) House made his way to the elevators. He got off at the ICU and made his way to the doctor's locker room. House quickly made his way to Chase's locker and broke in. He made sure that he did not ruin the lock as he opened the locker. Blue eyes spotted the blond's messenger bag and with a shrug he placed four empty prescription bottles from his sports jacket pocket on the top shelf. Part of House didn't want to give the bottles to Chase, but at the same time he realised that it would be for the best. Closing the locker and locking it, House made his way back to the elevators.

House made his was to his office to pick up his jacket and bag and to switch canes. The Diagnostics and Oncology hallway was rather quiet. The ex-marine brat wasn't even that surprised when he found Wilson in the hallway waiting for him. "You okay?" House asked, knowing that the previous night they had been too tired to talk.

They began to walk to the elevators and Wilson replied, "I'll be seeing Danny again next week. I'd like you to meet him."

"Sure." House shrugged, stopping to wait for the elevator. "He sounds interesting... go on."

"I thought seeing him again would change everything. It would be wonderful or terrible," replied Wilson hesitantly. "Instead… we're just strangers. It's kind of… anticlimactic."

The elevator arrived and both of the doctors stepped in and faced the front, Wilson glancing to see that their floor had already been hit. They were ignoring the other people in the elevator when House commented, "Which is better than terrible."

Wilson heard the light sigh and glanced at his friend encouragingly. "Go on."

"Does it bother you that we have no social contract?" murmured House.

The oncologist chuckles, "My whole life is one big compromise. I tiptoe around everyone like they're made of china. I spend all my time analyzing: What will the effect be if I say this? Then there's you. You're a reality junkie. If I offered you a comforting lie, you'd smack me over the head with it. Let's not change that."

"Okay," replied House with an internal smile.

"No see, this... if you were implementing the social contract, you'd say that, but only because… It makes me feel better…" Wilson trailed off, confusing himself.

House admitted, "It is kind of fun watching you torture yourself."

Wilson took a deep breath and turned to his friend in a serious manner. "Do you think things will work out with my brother?"

The elevator stopped. Both House and Wilson stepped out and made their way toward the exit. They paused quickly to sign out and continued towards the door.

"No," House answered, "but when it does go wrong, it won't be your fault."

Wilson paused for a moment. "Thanks, House."

The diagnostician finally caved in and asked the question that had been bothering him for a few days, "You do actually like monster trucks?"

Wilson smiled and said, "Absolutely," as he opened the doors and stepped out of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

"I TiVo-ed the match," House admitted, "come over and watch."

"I'll meet you there," replied Wilson. As House moved closer to his car and Wilson stepped towards the direction of his parking spot, the dirty blond paused and turned back to his friend. "Before I forget, who was that woman who was watching you sleep? If she wasn't a hooker then was she a new girlfriend?"

Blue eyes looked up into hazel—first he was surprised and then amused. "She's an up-and-coming RN, funny story, but she is the wife of the Guy-From-The-Bus-Stop," Wilson looked at House like he was crazy and started to walk again, House yelled, "Don't forget to pick up dinner on the way."

Wilson paused in his step, but with a shake of his head, he continued on. House knew that he would get them dinner. He got in his own car and headed back to his apartment. House got into his apartment and all he did was take off his jacket and shoes before he sat down on the sofa. The most accommodating thing that the elder doctor did for his future guest was push his bike helmet to the far end of the sofa and leave the door unlocked.

Picking up the remote, House checked to see if all of his shows recorded properly. He was happy to see that he got a new episode of the L Word that he had missed the previous night, a double doctor episode of Doctor Who, and a second not-so-amusing monster truck match.

House queued up the two matches and waited for his friend. He pulled out his Vicodin bottle and shook out two. He paused for half a second longer than normal, eyeing the pills in suspicion, but he already knew that that bottle was fine, so he swallowed the pills.

It wasn't long until Wilson showed up, knocking on the door pointlessly. Wilson came in with a couple of pizzas and a six-pack. He sat down next to House while the elder doctor hit play on his remote. The two doctors ate and drank as they watched their show.

After Wilson left, House headed for his bedroom and got ready to sleep. He got into bed, took two more Vicodin and lay down. In the back of his mind House kept thinking that the Vicodin were placebos and that the pain was not going to go away enough for him to get any sleep. It wasn't until House laid there awake for more than an hour that he realised that his leg really didn't hurt and that his brain doubted the physical sensation.

With a sigh, House got up and made his way out to the living room. He picked up his phone and paged Chase, "Come over ASAP." Throwing the phone onto the sofa, House sat down and began to watch the L Word.

Fifteen minutes into the episode, House realised that he really wasn't paying any attention to the show. He was only thinking about a solution to his problem. Stopping the episode, House flipped through until he found the Doctor Who episode he had recorded. It was a rerun, so he turned that on and let his mind wander.

He vaguely registered that his own pager went off and only looked at it long enough to see that it was from Chase. House got off of the sofa and unlocked the front door before he sat back down and thought.

House was reasonably sure he had a decent solution when there was a knock on the door. "It's unlocked," called House. When the door opened he added, "You missed your British classic episode of Doctor Who, but I can restart it."

"Please tell me you paged me, and made me lie to Allison about where I was going, for something more than mocking me," replied Chase, closing the door.

House shifted in his seat and glanced at the other doctor. Chase sighed and moved around the sofa and sat next to his former boss. They watched the end of the episode, where the disassociated doctor returned to his own time. When the credits began to roll, blue eyes glanced over at the blond. "I can't sleep."

"So you usually don't watch TV this late... or should I say early in the morning?" asked Chase, annoyed.

Gregory House ignored him. "I kept thinking that the Vicodin was a fake and that the pain wouldn't go away so I could sleep, but the pain was already gone."

Chase looked at his ex-boss and thought for a pregnant moment. "What do you want me to do?"

"I need a distraction," replied House. Before Chase could ask more, House continued, "Pain has always been a good distraction technique for me, especially when I was trying to forget Vicodin, but if I come in with broken bones or visible cuts or bruises, then Wilson will find me out."

Robert Chase was beginning to get a little annoyed—it wasn't like House to skirt around the

issue. "And what do you suggest?"

"Well I know I made fun of you _and_ implied the exact opposite... but I know what it entails when you say that you had a girlfriend that liked to be burned," said House, giving his once duckling a pointed look.

"No!" Chase shook his head, green eyes wide.

"I bet that you know how to properly bruise someone so that the bruises won't be seen at work and will stay for a couple days so whenever I need a distraction all I have to do is sit down, or shift, right?" said House, looking Chase in the eye.

"I do, but I haven't done it in a long time and I—"

"Will it mentally scar you?" interrupted House.

Chase shook his head. "No."

---------------------------------------This scene was deleted because it contained mild BDSM themes (for full chapter see my homepage in my profile)----------------------------------------

"Put the cane away, turn the lights off and lock the door behind you," said House as he made his way down the hallway. He could hear Chase moving around his apartment. He made his way into his bedroom flopped down on the bed on his stomach and fell asleep.

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